Introductions: Annabelle Lennox
by Botosphere
Summary: Part of Eowyn77's Introductions series. At the age of fifteen, Annabelle Lennox learns the truth about her father's best friend, Aaron Hyde. Canon pairings ONLY. Rated T to be safe for Cybertronian swearing, mild innuendo and some action sequences.
1. Messed Up

Do you have any idea how hard it is to be me? Seriously. Yeah, I know, everyone is fifteen once, even your parents, but it's so much harder now than it was for them. Right? Everyone says that. Well, I've got news. Even if you're fifteen and reading this, you don't know _anything_ about how hard it is to be me. And I know you're rolling your eyes and just gearing up to tell me your sob-story of a tough life.

Well before you go and embarrass yourself, let me tell you my story first. I am Annabelle Marie Lennox. And I hate my father.

You think Nebraska's the middle of nowhere? Forks, Washington? Fairbanks, Alaska? They've got nothing on me. Ever heard of Diego Garcia? My point exactly! It's a military base on a little group of islands in the Indian Ocean. You heard me. Military base. Now normally growing up on a military base isn't _too_ bad because there are civilian cities nearby. Not on Diego Garcia. Every living creature on that patch of earth is there because they're owned by the US or British military in one way or another. What about the natives? They were run off the islands back in the '70's. I grew up on stolen property while the rightful owners spent every penny they could spare to get their ancestral lands back. So how's that for original sin?

And did I mention it's a military base? Yeah. My dad is, like, G.I. Joe. Serious. All special ops and disappearing in the middle of the night to go save the world from demon alien robots. You've heard of them, right? They terrorized the world about ten years back. Uh-huh, _those _demon alien robots. How's that for 'career day' at school? "My daddy's a colonel, and he could tell us what he does every day, but then he'd have to kill us." Of course, there were only, like, a hundred and twenty other kids in my school, and they were all military brats, too. No, not my _grade _but my _entire K-12 school_. My dad was the highest-ranking officer with kids, though. You think you've got cliques and social ladders at your school? Well, military brats are born into it. I wasn't the popular one, I was the one everyone was _respectful _to, because, well, everybody respected Colonel William Lennox, and so their kids were taught to respect him, too. So I kind of got promoted by association. I never got invited to sleepovers, because officers and enlisted don't hang out like that. It would be disrespectful.

And as if I wasn't already isolated enough, my mom has a thing for the rural life and got us a house a full mile away from the nearest building and half a mile from the nearest paved road. In the jungle. So I'm smack-dab in the boondocks of the middle of nowhere.

Raise your hand if you can one-up me still.

As you can imagine, I grew up in a very adult world. My parents tried to shelter me from the fact that my dad was paid to be an alien robot gladiator, and when I was little, I never would have guessed. My dad and I were best friends. When he was home, he'd read books to me and help me build forts in the living room. We'd go swimming in the ocean or ride a bright-pink motorcycle to the commissary for ice cream. I always thought it was so cool that my dad gave me rides on a _pink _motorcycle. But the first and only time I swore at my mom, I saw the G.I. Joe side of my dad. It wasn't pretty. In fact, I'm kind of surprised the robots had the ball-bearings to take another shot at Earth after having seen my dad in battle. But I'm wandering way off topic.

My best friends were all grown-ups. There were my mom and dad, of course, and then a few friends of my parents who were co-workers. Epps was always out at the house, and eventually he settled down and got married, but their oldest kid was six years younger than me. I have a few memories of Graham, but he died when I was almost ten. There were also Aaron Hyde and River Christiansen, who went by the nickname of R.C., and they came to visit almost daily. They called Mom Spitfire and me Spitlet, since I was in her spitting image, which was cute until I was about twelve.

When I was eleven, I asked R.C. about her name. "Like the Nile River?"

"No," she said with a smirk. "Like River Tam."

So I googled it and then watched "Serenity" on Netflix, but I didn't get why she'd want to be named after a crazy girl until the end when River went all warrior-goddess and wiped out a whole room full of demonic Reavers. I always saw R.C. a little differently after that.

Her sister, Mia, joined the unit on Diego Garcia when I was eight and she seemed even more, well, special ops than R.C. She was constantly telling us about this or that new gun or missile or grenade that she was testing out for their weapons-engineer, Jack. When my thirteenth birthday sleep-over was a flop (did I mention that military brats don't fraternize with their higher-ranking brats?), Mia showed up the next day after school with an array of side-arms, shooting earmuffs, and some targets. "Sometimes, it helps to just blow something away," she said sympathetically. That day, Mia taught me how to use a .22, both a hand-gun and rifle. To my surprise and her satisfaction, I was a pretty good shot, even from that very first day. And I had to admit, I was enjoying myself by the time she and her shooting irons had to go back to the base. Dad just about had a fit when he found out, but Hyde (as Mom and Dad both called him) talked him down from his tantrum by pointing out every femme (as he called all females) should know how to defend herself.

Hyde was different from R.C. and Mia. He was always just…playful. I wondered sometimes what he and Dad did on the base, because they were kind of in synch and you knew they had to be working together a lot. They obviously had a great friendship, and Hyde was kind of adopted by our family, even more so than R.C. and Mia.

One day when I was almost fourteen, he and dad came home while Mia and I were shooting out back. She was teaching me some tricks about how to manage a higher-caliber weapon despite my smaller size, and Dad couldn't bear to watch, so he went inside to Mom. I caught Hyde staring at Mia and I realized he was in love with her. And then Mia caught him staring and winked. They never held hands or kissed or anything, but it was just plain as day in their eyes that they loved each other and I wondered why I'd never seen it before. It was something of a shock that _Hyde _could be in _love, _but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Mia was perfect for him. Mom agreed when I asked her.

Dad even roughhoused with Hyde. Often they'd get together a football game and a whole bunch of Dad's fellow warriors from the base would come and fill the front yard with _really _cool cars. I always loved the back yard football games. The guys were rowdy and fun, especially the twins (there were two sets of them). When I was little, they'd take turns giving me shoulder rides, and when I was too big for that, they would tell me really cool sci-fi stories. And then the game would start. A couple of guys with the nicknames of Prowl and Prime were the team captains and you'd think it was an all-out war they were so serious about it. Even R.C. and Mia would play while Mom would referee. I was the cheering section for whichever team Dad was on.

But yeah, that's my messed up childhood. Nothing too traumatic, just…messed up. No kids my own age to play with, and femme fatales for best friends. I hadn't realized how lucky I was until my dad went and traumatized my adolescence. You see, I turned fifteen a week ago. Apparently, Hyde and his CO thought that fifteen was old enough to be entrusted with matters of global security and my whole world got turned on its ear. I'm still wondering if they're right.

And I really do hate my father.


	2. Birthday Surprise

Author's Note (Eowyn77): Firstly, I know this will disappoint some people, but Annabelle doesn't end up romantically involved with any of the Autobots. Her relationship with them is friendship bordering on family. HOWEVER, twins will be twins. ;)

(I know there's no evidence of a movieverse Sunstreaker, but it's just inconceivable to have Sideswipe without his brother, so meh.)

Secondly, this chapter will be a lot more meaningful if you've read chapter 4 of Introductions: Sarah Lennox. Sarah recaps here what happens in that chapter, but there's so much more to her and Arcee's story! Please, please, please read it first! (And review, if you're so inclined. I'm a newbie to the fandom and very insecure.) :)

Thirdly, thank you to xJustAnotherDreamerx, aisarete, and Marinelife37 for the reviews and encouragement!

* * *

At my request, my fourteenth birthday party was a back-yard football game. Unfortunately, it also involved a very embarrassing surprise serenade of "Happy Birthday" by Sunny and Sides that ended with them each on one knee on both sides of me offering me a yellow and a silver-grey rose, respectively. I just about died from embarrassment, but the others thought this was hysterical, mostly because both Hyde and my dad were fit to be tied.

My fifteenth birthday was a lower-key affair. R.C. and Mia came over for a slumber party with me and my mom while Dad went to stay with Hyde. My present from R.C. was a set of four paint guns, and Mia's present was ammo (in copious quantities, true to her style). So after a nighttime round of team paintball (R.C. and I won), we went inside for birthday cake, ice cream straight from the carton, and a movie. It was an oldie called _Miss Congeniality_ that we all laughed ourselves silly over. Then we gave each other pedicures and talked about nothing in particular until I passed out around 0200 hours. I have no idea how late the others stayed up. Around 1100 hours, we finally woke up enough for strawberry crepes and coffee. (It was a school day, but family tradition was that I got to stay home from school on my birthday.)

We were just finishing when Dad and Hyde came home. He and Hyde had both taken a half-day off work for my special day. "How's the birthday girl?" Dad asked, giving me a big hug.

"Groggy," I answered.

"After sleeping in 'til noon?" he teased.

R.C. and Mia both gave me hugs before quietly slipping out. Their shifts started at 1300. "See you soon," R.C. promised.

"See ya."

"So. Big day," Hyde said, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He looked almost nervous. He hadn't given me a present yet, and from his expression, I suspected it was a doozy.

"What did you do?" I demanded, expecting a mischievous grin to light up his face any second.

"Nothing."

"Um-hum. Riiight."

He shrugged, smiling just a little. Pulling his hand out of his pocket, he offered me a small, wrapped box.

"Go on," Dad encouraged. "Open it."

I went to the living room and sat down on the couch, tearing the paper off. Hyde sat beside me. Inside the box was a small, sleek, expensive-looking cell phone.

"Qwerty keyboard, 10 megapixel camera, and voice-to-text capabilities," Hyde bragged. "And all of our names and phone numbers already programmed in."

It wasn't what I was expecting – especially having the personal phone numbers of my Dad's co-workers – but it was a very sweet gift. A grown-up gift, I abruptly realized. I threw my arms around Hyde. "Thank you so much!"

He hugged me tightly. "Anything for you, Spitlet."

I groaned. "Please don't call me that."

His strong shoulders shook with laughter, and he let me go. "Alright. Annabelle. But that's not your only surprise today."

I looked at him expectantly, but he glanced up to Dad like he needed a little help.

"You'll have to go to the back yard to get it," Dad said. He looked a little apprehensive, too.

"Okay," I said uncertainly, standing up. My first thought was that maybe Hyde had bought me a car, but I was only fifteen and didn't even have a learner's permit. And why was everyone so nervous. "Do I need a blindfold?"

"No," Mom said, laughing a little and taking my hand. "Come on."

Hyde's Topkick was in the back yard. Mom paused on the back deck, her arm around me. Dad leaned against the railing facing me, while Hyde went down to stand in front of his truck. My father took a deep breath. "Annabelle, have you ever wondered what I do at work?"

I shrugged. "Sure, but it's all extremely top secret."

"Not anymore," he answered. "Not for you."

I looked from him to Hyde and back in surprise. "Huh?"

"You know the aliens that attacked Earth?"

"Yeah."

"Not all of them are bad. In fact, some are our friends." He turned and nodded to Hyde.

Hyde blinked out of existence.

My breath whooshed out like someone had punched me. He'd disappeared into thin air, right in front of me. "Where…?"

The hood of the truck split down the middle, and I watched in horror as the vehicle shifted and morphed into the shape of a robot.

_NO! _This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't.

"This is Ironhide," my dad was saying. "He's an Autobot and has spent your entire lifetime defending the whole of planet Earth from the Decepticons."

"No," I whispered.

"I'm afraid so," the thing with Hyde's voice said. "We wanted to tell you – "

A blood-curdling, horror-struck scream fell out of my mouth.

"Annabelle," Dad said sharply.

"No." I shook my head, stepping back. Mom's arm on me tightened just a little bit in support. I shook her off, taking another step back. _This_ was _Hyde_?"NO!"

The robot held his arms out almost like he wanted a hug. "Please, Spitlet."

"_**NO!**_"I shrieked.

Dad grabbed my arm and said to the monster, "Excuse us a minute." Hauling me back into the kitchen, he got right in my face.

"Annabelle Marie Lennox, what is _wrong_ with you? Ironhide has been your friend since you were a baby."

"No, _my_ friends are_ human_!"

Dad narrowed his eyes. "You _know _him. You _know _he won't harm you. You _know _he's one of the good guys."

"I don't know _anything_ anymore!" I could feel my hands trembling. The monster in the backyard knelt down, looking worriedly in through the window.

"Look," Dad growled. "The first time I saw one of these things, it was tearing up Soccent, and the only reason I survived was that I kept a cool head. The day your mother met Ironhide, she threatened his life if he didn't bring me home safely – and he was in his robot form. You're _our _daughter and I expect you to show a little more backbone. You're shaming us both!"

Shaming them. I was having a freaking crisis and all he could care about was the impression I was making on his alien buddy.

"I _hate_ you," I hissed. And then I bolted to my bedroom and locked the door. Throwing myself on my bed, I lay face down on my pillow and cried. They'd lied to me. Who else was an alien monster? My parents? R.C. and Mia? Bobby and Theresa Epps? Sunny and Sides? Who had known? Who had lied? I felt the answer to that last one: _everyone._ Everyone must have known. My whole life, _everyone_ I'd ever trusted had _lied._

A few minutes later, there was a light knock on my door. "Annabelle?" my mom said.

I just buried my head under my pillow.

After another minute or so, she softly began to sing. It was my favorite lullaby when I was little.

_Sparkling laughter, sparkling strong,  
__Sparkling smile, sparkling song.  
__Sparkling weeping, sparkling bright,  
__Sparkling daughter, sparkling mine._

_Sparkling gentle, sparkling sweet,  
__Sparkling welcome, mine to keep,  
__Sparkling growing, mine to love,  
__Sparkling little, sparkling safe._

_When first your light filled me,  
__I wept to hold you near.  
__A part of me, yet all your own,  
__Mine until you're grown._

_Sparkling laughter, sparkling song,  
__Sparkling smile, sparkling strong.  
__Sparkling weeping, sparkling bright,  
__Sparkling daughter, sparkling mine._

"R.C. taught me the English version of the song," Mom said. "It was a traditional lullaby on her world."

"Use her real name!" I snapped before I could stop myself.

"That is her real name, except if you look in your phone, it's spelled A-R-C-E-E."

When I didn't answer, she kept going in a soft voice, as if she was talking to herself. "She was first a teacher and then a scientist before the War that destroyed her world. She taught younglings, the equivalent of middle school, more or less." A pause, waiting for me to comment. After a few seconds, she went on. "Mia, or Chromia as most people call her, says that the younglings were the best preparation any civilian could have had for combat. Early on in the War, Arcee defended neutrals, people who hadn't joined either faction, because the Decepticons were killing indiscriminately. She was instrumental in winning a couple of crucial battles before coming here."

Another pause, and when Mom started talking again, she sounded nostalgic. "The first day I met her, Will was in the hospital on base because he'd been injured. At the time, I only had clearance to interact with Ironhide, but Optimus Prime made the decision to introduce me to everyone." Again she paused. "You were only a year old at the time. Arcee was so…in awe of you, Annabelle. They all were. Their children were all killed in the War. Every last one. You were a miracle in their eyes. And until little Danny Epps came along, you were the only child they _could_ know. You were hope incarnate to them. Precious. A treasure."

Another pause, longer this time. She sighed before continuing. "They were all jealous that Arcee got the chance to hold you in her human holoform, so much so that Optimus brought it up with the liaison. It was feared that a young child would let the secret slip, so after much arguing with the Secretary of Defense, a compromise was reached. The Autobots could interact with you as long as they stayed in their holoforms and strictly acted human. It was decided that at the age of fifteen, we could let you in on the secret." A pause. "Ironhide and the femmes have chafed at needing to hide so much from you, but a deal was a deal. They've looked forward to this day for years. They want you to truly know them."

She paused a long while then, but I was still giving her the silent treatment.

"They _love _you, Annabelle. Ironhide _loves _you. Forget his exterior and look on his heart."

"He doesn't _have _a heart!" I snarled.

On the other side of the door, Mom chuckled once. "No. But he has a spark. It's the part of them that makes them unique. Their soul, I guess. It's a physical orb of light that a Cybertronian carries in his chest. Or her chest. When their spark is extinguished, they die. Remember the song? They call one of their babies a sparkling. The best translation would be 'dear heart.' Look on his soul, Annabelle, because he _does _have one, and you've loved his soul for as long as you can remember."

I didn't answer, and after a few minutes, her footsteps retreated down the hall.

Half an hour later, another, firmer knock rapped on my door. "Annabelle?" Dad asked. He sounded calmer, but I could hear he was nowhere near apologizing. When I didn't answer, he spoke again, sounding frustrated. (Good, I thought.) "Ironhide went back to the base. It's safe to come out, now."

He was so clueless that he didn't deserve an answer. After a minute, his footsteps retreated down the hall, too.

I stayed in my room all day, listening to music on my MP3 player. At about 1400 hours, I got a text message on my new phone from a contact labeled Ironhide. It simply said, "I'm sorry." I deleted the message. Mom came upstairs about 1800 hours to tell me dinner was ready, and after a couple of minutes, I decided I was hungry enough to endure a meal with them. Dad tried to make conversation like today was just another day, but Mom only gave him short answers and kept throwing him warning glances. I went back upstairs before dessert and stayed there the rest of the evening.

The next morning, I went downstairs for a silent breakfast in my pajamas and then went back up to my bedroom. A few minutes later, my mom knocked on the door and asked if I was going to school or not.

"Not," I answered. "I'm too sick."

She left without another word. I guess lying was easy for her. The next day was Saturday, and I spent the whole weekend like that, leaving my bedroom only to eat or shower. Every now and then I could hear my parents arguing, but I just turned up the volume on the player. On Monday morning after Dad left for the base, I got ready for school and silently stalked out to the garage. The minivan sat perfectly still. "Is it…?"

"No," Mom answered. "It's just a minivan. The only Autobots you know are Ironhide, Arcee, Chromia, and the other ones with weird nicknames."

"Epps?"

"No. His entire family is human."

That was a relief. At least I had a few human friends.

"And we won't throw any more of them at you until you're ready," Mom added solemnly, gauging my reaction. "But Ironhide is our guardian. When he's not on active duty, he'll still come here. Not in his human holoform or his robotic base mode, though. He'll just be in his alt-form, just your father's truck."

Just a truck – another lie. Looking away from my mom, I climbed into the front seat.


	3. Turning Point

Author's Note (Eowyn77): Sorry if the last two chapters left a bitter taste in anyone's mouth. The first line of this chapter kind of sums up where we'll go from here, though. ;) It'll take 2-3 chapter for Annabelle to repair the damage she's caused, but we will get past this, and then the REAL fun can begin. :)

**_TIE IN: _**This chapter ties in with _Introductions: Bradley Johnston_. He's a minor OC in this chapter. I put him in here with a bit part, and then the slagger insisted on telling me his story. I have to admit, it was pretty good, so his story is now posted as part of the Introductions series. Currently it's a one-shot, but it's not likely to stay that way. You might want to take a minute and make his acquaintance before reading this chapter, though you don't really need to. :)

Many thanks to laureas, Thealie, Marinelife37, dzeniibby, and RK-Striker-JK-5 for the reviews on the last chapter!

* * *

Today I remembered why I love my dad. Darn him.

It was after school and Mom was working on her accounting stuff when the phone rang. (She still owned her ranch back in California and she did all the paperwork for it remotely.) I was still pouting in my room, so I didn't bother answering it. It's not like anyone human ever called the colonel's daughter, and I wasn't about to speak to my alien robot "friends." It had been two and a half weeks, and Ironhide, Arcee, and Chromia left daily text messages for me. I deleted them without reading them.

A couple of minutes later, Mom hollered up the stairs for me, and I grudgingly opened the bedroom door. "What."

"We're headed up to the base. Pack whatever you'll need for the rest of the evening."

I recognized her tense, choked-up tone, and my blood ran cold. Walking to the top of the stairs, I looked down at her. "Is Dad okay?"

"Yeah, he sent a car. Hyde's been hurt, along with Sides and Arcee."

"Sent a _car_?"

"An Autobot," Mom confirmed.

I crossed my arms defiantly. "I'm a little old for the daycare, don't you think?"

Without batting an eyelash, Mom said, "Yes, I do. If you come with me, you'll actually come _with _me. To the Autobot hangar." And there was just the faintest hint of a challenge in her eyes, not calling me chicken but asking if I really wanted to miss out on this.

Frowning, I went back into my room and threw _Return of the King _into my backpack, along with a sketch-pad and my pencils. I checked my MP3 player, grateful it had a decent charge, and added it to my bag. Rummaging in my purse, I found a few dollars and pocketed them, in case I wanted something from the commissary while we were there.

My new cell phone was sitting on my dresser, charging. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands a couple of times. I was still angry about being lied to, but only a little bit. Mostly I was just wallowing now. It was stupid and bratty of me, but I hadn't really seen an alternative. I didn't know how to move beyond the fact that I couldn't trust people I once would have trusted with my life.

With a sudden feeling of dread, I realized this was the turning point. I had to either go with Mom and start acting like a mature adult or stay home and continue to act like a spoiled child. I had enough sense to know it would be just plain wrong (and maybe hazardous to my health) to go into that hangar with my bad attitude. _Did_ I really want to miss out on this? What else did I have to do today? _Who_ else did I prefer to be with? Checking my new cell phone once for messages – there were none – I put it into the backpack, too.

And then I sat on my bed beside the bag and stared at nothing while I waited. The man I'd known as Aaron Hyde had been hurt several times, of course. The first time I remember going through all this, I was nine. It was the same day Graham died. Dad had driven over in a little green mini and brought us back to the base. I remember Mom crying so hard, and Dad just looking…cold, but not in a mean way. Like he was in shock and he was trying to stay that way so he wouldn't cry, too. They'd dropped me at the daycare and I spent the day there playing computer games and watching Disney cartoons. I guess I just didn't understand how Hyde could ever be _really_ hurt. He was tough as nails and as kind as Santa Claus. Larger than life. Legends don't die. And before the day was up, he and my parents came to pick me up from the daycare and bring me to the commissary for a treat.

A day or two later, we attended Graham's send-off. He was flying home to be buried beside his grandpa. I remember that part because I realized then that I didn't know who my grandpa was and I decided I wanted him to be Hyde. I never told anyone, but I wrote it in my little locked diary.

The next time I remember him getting hurt, I was twelve. It was eerily the same – the phone call, Mom's worried voice, Dad driving home in an unfamiliar vehicle to pick us up. Funny how I never made the connection before. That time, it was a yellow Camaro. I remember because it was raining and the yellow color seemed way too happy for such a dismal day. Sitting in the daycare had been depressing that time, mostly because it was insulting, but I helped out the workers by holding babies.

"Annabelle?" Mom called up the stairs to me.

"Coming."

It was a golden Corvette flying down the driveway this time. I glanced at my mom. "Sunny?"

"Sunstreaker. And yes, Sideswipe is actually his twin. Their spark split when it was formed, just like with human identical twins."

Then the car slid sideways to idle not two feet in front of us. "Come on! Come on!" Sunny's voice snarled through the radio's speakers. He sounded exactly like he did when the football players started arguing and he wanted to just get back to the game so he could plow into his brother again. (It was a basic rule of Lennox Football that nobody got an intact set of twins. Sunny and Sides were hard hitters, and Skids and Mudflap were almost impossible to catch.) For some reason, his anger sounded so…so honest. Genuine. Where I didn't know if I could trust Ironhide's open arms, I _could_ trust Sunstreaker's irritation. I slid into the passenger seat, buckling up while Mom climbed in.

Sunstreaker peeled out on the gravel, fishtailing, and raced back up to the highway. "Would it _kill _you to get a paved driveway?" he growled. "My finish is slagged now."

"You were slagged by the Decepticons first," Mom answered. "Besides, if we paved it, what would you have left to glitch about?"

Did my _mom_ just _cuss _at Sunstreaker in Autobot?

"Saltwater, sand, UV rays, the acid rain your _stupid_ species seems intent on making, Ratchet, Sideswipe, Prowl, Optimus, Iron Will, Megatron, Starscream, Shockwave…"

"Shut up," Mom snapped.

"Hey," Sunstreaker snapped right back. "She's got clearance now. Doesn't she? Don't you, Spitlet?"

"_Don't_ call me that," I grumbled.

"I'll call you whatever the slag I like, femme."

"Until Ironhide comes around," Mom muttered.

Sunstreaker ignored her. "You know the names of the good guys. Wanna know who the villains are?"

To be honest, I _was_ kind of curious, now that he mentioned it. "Sure," I mumbled.

"Megatron's the big one. He's the one who started the whole fragging war. Starscream is his right-hand mech and a huge pain in the aft for everyone – Autobots _and _Decepticons. And Shockwave…" The engine roared, and somehow, it was more frightening than if he'd cussed or yelled or growled with his human voice. There was a lot of power behind that engine, and it shook his whole body, including his passengers. "As you humans say, Shockwave's got brains. He came up with a new type of ammo that might just cost Ironhide his life."

"Sunstreaker," Mom said, more gently this time.

"Don't 'Sunstreaker' me, femme. Spitlet's gonna find out sooner or later. Besides, she's tougher than you think, screaming like a girl notwithstanding."

"Wow," I snarked. "You got all the way up to four syllables with that one, Sunny." I didn't like being reminded about that scream. It _was _embarrassing, even if Dad didn't have any right to say so.

We pulled into the infamous hangar, and opening his doors for us, Sunstreaker unceremoniously dumped us out of his cab. He launched himself forward, transforming on the fly. It was easy to see why. An identically-shaped silver Autobot stepped into view, apparently walking out through a large door. He was rubbing his chest kind of like Dad did when he had heartburn.

Sunstreaker grabbed his brother by his shoulders, shaking him. "You fragging, punk-ass slagger!"

Sideswipe angrily shook him off. "Love you, too, bro."

Impulsively, Sunstreaker pulled Sideswipe into a quick hug and then rapped on Sides' helmet. "You are so scrapping _stupid. _Come on, let's get you some energon."

From the open door, we all heard a baritone voice command "Lay off the high-grade for at least twenty-four hours."

Ratchet. A host of memories rushed over me at the sound. Ron Hatchett, nicknamed Ratchet, had been our family's physician for as long as I could remember. Anytime Mom or I were sick or hurt, he made a house call, even if it was just to splint Mom's ankle when she twisted it. When I caught the chicken pox, he stayed overnight for several nights in a row until my fever came down. Ratchet's voice was the sound of comfort and the easing of pain.

Simultaneously, the twins casually flipped the bird in the general direction of Ratchet's, er, repair shop. Then they turned and stalked toward us, making for the other side of the hanger. Seeing us standing there, Sideswipe gave me a tough-guy grin and a twitch of his optical hardware that, coming from him, had to be a wink.

Watching them, it slowly dawned on me that, even in this bizarre form, the twins were familiar. I knew them. From flipping off Ratchet to the jaunty way they walked to the cheeky wink, I could see Sunny and Sides in Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

Dad entered the hanger from a human-sized side door and came over to us. "Hey, ladies," he greeted us, but the words were subdued.

Then Mom touched my elbow and all three of us walked toward the door Sideswipe had just emerged from. As we got closer, I noticed another Autobot, this one much shorter than the twins but still twice my height, standing guard at the entrance.

"Chromia," Dad said in acknowledgement.

"Iron Will, Spitfire," the Autobot coolly answered with Mia's voice. Nodding toward me, she said to Dad, "You sure you want to take a youngling into the med bay? It's still pretty bad, and Ratchet's mood is even worse."

And just like with the twins, I suddenly saw Mia in Chromia, in the way she stood with her hip to the side and the angle of her rifle. "I can handle a thirty-ought-six," I answered quietly, "thanks to you. I should be able to handle this."

I could almost feel her surprise when I spoke to her directly, and I felt a surge of guilt. I shouldn't have deleted those texts. Now I didn't even know what they'd been trying to say to me.

Looking back at Dad, Chromia said, "It's your call."

"No," Dad answered. "It's Annabelle's. She's got clearance now and permission from Optimus."

"I'd like to go in," I said in a small voice.

With a grimace, Chromia pushed aside the door for us.

The first thing I noticed was another Chromia-sized Autobot, maybe because she was almost at eye level, maybe because she was bright pink. Arcee, I realized. She didn't look up as we entered. She just stared at a pile of crushed and half-melted parts sitting on a human-sized table. Looking more closely, I noticed the occasional fleck of purple. Without a word, Mom went over and gently touched the metal claw that passed for Arcee's hand. After a moment, Arcee looked down at Mom and sighed, collapsing into a familiar, pink motorcycle. Mom mounted the bike and the two of them sped out of the door Chromia had opened for them.

Dad started climbing the steps of a free-standing platform at the head of an Autobot-sized table, and I followed him.

"Thank you for getting those two out of the med bay, Will." Ratchet's voice came from an Autobot as tall as Sunny and Sides but broader in the shoulders. He didn't look up, but I could hear his irritation. "Arcee was so silent it was distracting and Sunstreaker's a glitch in the best of times. Now you two get the Pit out of here, too."

As I climbed behind my dad, I saw that Ratchet was…operating on a big, black Autobot, and with a sinking heart, I realized this must be Ironhide. His chest was exposed and spread wide open, a bright blue light humming away in some kind of casing where a heart would be. To my shock, a human in a hazmat suit was crawling around in the cavity. "Found it," the man said with a lilting British accent, holding up in a gloved hand what looked like a heavy-duty thermos. "Twelve more, right?"

Ratchet took the thermos and dumped a glowing, orange marble from the mug into something that looked vaguely like a cooler. I could see several of the marble things in it before Ratchet covered them with a lid. "Right. But you should let Davis do the next one."

The man was sweating from exertion. "It's just a few centimeters away from – "

"Yes, but it's been eight minutes."

"It's not going to kill me to – "

Ratchet plucked the man up by a harness around his chest. "Poor choice of words, Johnston. Yes, actually, it could. Now go to Quinn and send in Davis."

Clearly annoyed, the man crossed his arms while Ratchet set him on his feet and gave him a gentle nudge with one finger. It was that gesture, when his hand was extended, that let me see the scorch marks all up the inside of Ratchet's arm.

"What _happened_ to you?" I asked.

The robot turned to me, and something about the set of his shoulders was downright menacing. "I said get out!" he roared in a tone normally reserved for Mudflap. "No suit, no protective gear at all! What are you _thinking_, Will? And she's a youngling!"

I jumped, but Dad put a reassuring hand on my shoulder before leading us silently out of the med bay, Ratchet ranting behind us.


	4. Melting

Author's Notes: A thousands thanks to Marinelife37, Laureas, RK-Striker-JK5, Gixxer Pilot, Carmilla DeWinter, and Kaede Akira for the reviews! You guys keep me writing. :)

* * *

I followed Dad out of the med bay, fighting back the tears. Ratchet never yelled me. Never.

We left the hangar through the same door Dad had entered. It led into a long hallway, but we stopped only a few doors down. "Welcome to the human side of NEST," Dad said, leading me into a break room or cafeteria of some kind. In front of some vending machines, he stopped and said, "Hot chocolate? Ice cream? Corn dog? We missed dinner, but there's always the deli over at the commissary if you want something better."

I sighed and looked over the selection. A strange thought hit me. "_They're_ not Autobots, are they?"

Dad chuckled. "No, but we did have to hunt down and kill a Decepticon pop machine once. After that, it was a long time before I could use a vending machine without one hand on my pistol."

Any other day, I would have smiled. Instead I just pointed at a bottle of apple juice. "I'll take that."

He bought the juice for me and a soda for himself. Sitting us down at a table in the corner, he said, "Don't take it personally, Annabelle. Ratchet's had a day straight from the Pit itself. We all have. He's been in that med bay since 0300 this morning."

When I didn't answer, he squeezed my hand and said, "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"What…" I hesitated, unsure if I wanted an answer. Time to stop being a brat, I reminded myself. Show a little concern for the aliens who have always been kind if not actually honest. "What happened to his arm?"

"The same thing that's happening to Ironhide's internal systems. You saw those glowing pellets?"

"Yeah."

"They're kind of like radioactive buckshot. They couldn't pierce armor, but some of them did make it through the chinks and they're burning out Ironhide's circuits from the inside. Every time they move him, the shot rolls around inside and does more damage. The problem is Ratchet can't touch the things. He's got more repair tools than a hundred Swiss Army knives, but every time he tried to pick up the pellets or deactivate them, that tool's circuits got fried. He had to stop after a dozen or so tries because Sideswipe's spark chamber was damaged – "

"That's bad?"

"Very," Dad said grimly. "Sideswipe's spark was beginning to falter, and he'd die if it went out. If Ratchet kept trying to save Ironhide, he wouldn't have the means to save Sideswipe's spark. He had to choose."

"And he chose Sideswipe," I realized.

"We did," Dad answered solemnly.

I glared hatefully at him.

"Optimus had the final say," Dad added, "but Chromia and I were both part of the decision. You have to understand, sweetheart, Sunny and Sides are twins. Their sparks are two halves of a whole. If one dies, the other probably will, too. We were weighing both their lives against one. Ratchet knew how to fix Sideswipe, but there was nothing he could really do for Ironhide. So cut Ratchet a little slack, okay? He's had a rough time of it."

"Is Ironhide going to be okay?"

"We don't know. Johnston, he's on Ratchet's repair team, couldn't help with Sideswipe, so he took it upon himself to try to dislodge some of the shot pellets from Hyde's circuits closer to the surface. Using armor fragments from Arcee's damaged component, he realized _he_ was able to handle the pellets without getting electrocuted or anything. Ratchet just about blew a fuse when he realized what Johnston had done, he was so mad. He doesn't like humans risking their lives to help him. He physically ejected Johnston from the med bay."

"But that didn't stop you guys," I said, smiling a little to know that they hadn't just given up on Hyde. Or 'Hide, I guess it must be.

"Once Chromia realized we could help, she wouldn't let anything stop us. We convinced Optimus to give us the go-ahead to work on Ironhide while Ratchet worked on Sides. Apparently the Decepticons hadn't figured on humans helping with repairs, so the radiation that shorted out Ratchet's hardware didn't do anything unusually nasty to us. A bunch of us humans have taken turns pulling the pellets out. Ratchet won't let us do more than one pellet or ten minutes at a time, whichever happens first. He's worried about the longer-term effects of the radiation."

"You helped, too?" I asked in surprise.

He gave me a sad smile. "Why do you think I sent Sunny instead of coming myself? I've got command authority, even over Ratchet. I've pulled three pellets, but Prime put his foot down and won't let me do any more."

"Could I do one?" I softly asked.

Dad stared at me, and I couldn't tell if he was more pleased, alarmed, or just plain surprised. Recovering, he said, "No, I doubt it. Ratchet's irritated enough that humans can do something for his patient that he can't do himself. Putting _you _at risk would be out of the question."

"Because I'm just a kid."

"No," Dad said solemnly. "Because he has a special place in his spark for you."

With the way I'd been acting? I raised my eyebrows in surprise, and Dad smiled gently. "They all do, Annabelle. You became their surrogate child in many ways, or maybe everyone's kid sister. They wouldn't let you endanger yourself, not because you're too young but because they love you too much."

I thought about that as Dad took a drink of his soda. One of the hardest things about finding out my friends were all alien robots was that it colored and warped all my memories. For instance, the cool cars they drove were actually themselves, and the people in the back yard were just illusions. So their friendship seemed like illusions, too. It was all part of the game, the deception necessary to blend in. The lie. How could a person _not _feel used and betrayed to learn that? But now I was starting to understand that the illusions weren't just illusions. I hadn't lost my friends; their soul or spark or heart or whatever you call it was still there, just…different, I guess. It was all pretty confusing still. But I realized that Dad was right – they loved me, and that was true whether Ratchet and Hyde were tough old soldiers or alien robots.

"Have there been other times humans could do things for Ratchet that he couldn't do?"

Dad shook his head. "Very rarely. You remember hearing about the Fallen?"

"Um, no."

"That was the Decepticon who made the world-wide transmission when you were two and half."

"Oh." Yeah. We learned about that in school. It was kind of weird to hear Dad talk about it as a memory when I'd read about it in a textbook.

"Optimus Prime died – they got there too late for Ratchet or any of the others to save him. That's why the Fallen had the power to attack Earth. A human boy sacrificed his own life to bring Prime back. Luckily for the boy, the same power that brought Prime back brought him back, too."

"Wow! How often does _that _happen?"

Dad gave me a grim half-smile. "About as often for Autobots as it does for humans. The only other one I know about is Megatron. We had a powerful piece of technology that some Decepticons broke in and…" He froze and then, jerking to his feet, bolted toward the door. "Move it, Annabelle!"

Confused (and, I'll admit, frightened), I ran after him. He hurtled down the hallway, throwing open the door to the Autobot hangar and sprinting across it to a huge doorway opposite the human wing. He paused there long enough to scan his access card and the door swished open just as I caught up with him. In the back of my mind, I realized as we passed through the enormous door that this must be the Autobot side of NEST. Literally.

Hanging a left, we ran two doors down. Dad skidded to a halt, catching me as I almost fell into him. "PROWL!" he barked.

The Autobot door in front of us opened, and a black-and-white robot crouched down to eye-level. "Report."

"Are we sure those pellets in Ironhide aren't Decepticons? Like the mini Insecticon marble-things that stole the All Spark Fragment?"

The Autobot blinked, and even though his eyes were basically glorified light bulbs, I got a sense that his gaze was distant. "Chromia says nothing in Ratchet's scans have indicated spark-energy – she's certain he would have said something – but his scans are about as effective as his repair tools with this new weapon."

"Recommend we contain the extracted pellets with Level One security."

"Agreed." Prowl straightened, his expression distant again. "Wheeljack will pick them up from the med-bay and seal them in his lab."

Wheeljack? Jack's Autobot name, I guessed.

"Jolt as an escort?"

Prowl tilted his head slightly. "And Prime."

Then he swiftly transformed into the familiar police car and opened the front doors – both of them. I climbed in and hung on for dear life when Prowl peeled out. No one questioned whether I would come along or suggested I should wait in the break room or go hang out with Skids and Mudflap. Dad was treating me like an adult, and I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about that.

Another hard part about learning the truth about the Autobots was that I didn't know where I fit. Like everything else in life, I was first and foremost Colonel Lennox's daughter, and the Autobots were my dad's friends before they were mine. Now all of a sudden they were a state secret, and with the magical tick of a clock on my fifteenth birthday, I was supposed to be a grown up capable of…what? Helping provide a human cover for them? Fighting with them? Was that why Chromia had spent so much time training with me? Did they expect me to _contribute_ in some way? I was only a kid, for crying out loud!

But I didn't _want_ to be just a kid – nobody does, and especially not teenagers.

Even knowing one of the most closely-kept secrets in the world, though, I didn't _feel _any different. The Autobots were still _my dad's _friends, for the most part, and there was no way I was an adult like _him_. In what universe was I on equal footing with them? The fact that they'd hidden the truth for so long made me feel kind of like they'd kept me in my proper place all this time. I was just a kid whose father was mixed up in the insanity. Why did they bother to let me into the club?

I couldn't make sense of my own feelings any more than I could make sense of the Autobots. Did I want to be a kid or an adult? Did I want to be a part of this or did I want to stay home and innocently watch TV and leave all this scary, strange, epic stuff to my dad?

Since finding out, I'd acted like a kid, but here, speeding across the base in Prowl's vehicle form…maybe this was something I really _didn't _want to miss out on. Humans _could _help the Autobots. They needed us. And maybe, just maybe, they needed me – Ironhide or Ratchet, if no one else.

_They love you. _My mom's words echoed in my mind, as did my dad's comments earlier. _You're like a surrogate child or everyone's kid sister._

Even if, thanks to Chromia, I _could _shoot straight, they didn't expect me to be a warrior like Dad. I understood that now, especially after Dad's reaction to my offer to help Ironhide (and Ratchet's reaction to me in the med bay, though that still stung). It made me feel worlds better knowing they didn't expect me to do something I couldn't. I suddenly realized, though, that if there was any way I _could _help them, I would because Arcee was still R.C. and Ironhide was still Hyde. If they ran out of human helpers before they ran out of pellets, I _would _crawl into Ironhide's chest to pull out a radioactive bullet. And like Sunny and Sides, I'd flip Ratchet off if he gave me any grief.

Okay, so I wouldn't ever _really _flip off Ratchet, but I still grinned at the mental image.

Prowl squealed to a stop in front of a bunker with a huge door and opened his car doors for us. Climbing out, I was a little intimidated to see a group of vehicles bearing down on us, though Prime's red and blue semi had me the most worried. No way would they be able to stop in time. Dad simply stood at attention and I sidled up to him.

Prowl transformed back to his robot mode, but I barely noticed as I stared, riveted, at the oncoming semi. In front of my horrified eyes, the truck began transforming as its brakes squealed, pushing up from kneeling to stop about four feet in front of us. I looked up…and up. Of course the one with the biggest vehicle would be the biggest Autobot. Here was the _real_ Optimus Prime. He turned, looking down at the green and white car that had also stopped and now popped its trunk – Wheeljack. A blue Autobot – Jolt – reached into Jack's trunk and picked up the cooler-looking thing I'd seen in the med-bay. Then Wheeljack transformed.

It was mind-blowing to watch so many transformations all at once – I had a hard time processing it. Fortunately, everybody seemed focused on the Decepticon ammo instead of on me.

"How many pellets remain in Ironhide?" Prowl asked.

"Eight," Wheeljack answered, taking the cooler from Jolt and carrying it toward the bunker. Everyone fell in step with him, and I hurried to keep up with Dad. "We have extracted thirty-six and have another twenty-one recovered from the battlefield in containment."

"I've asked Chromia to discreetly keep watch inside the med-bay," Prime said in his unmistakable voice. "Ratchet is agitated enough already."

"Chromia discreet?" Jolt muttered in disbelief.

"I'll join her as soon as these pellets are secure," Prime continued. "Jolt will stay with you and Wheeljack, Prowl."

"Do you think that's necessary?" Wheeljack asked, sounding more curious than annoyed. "My lab is the most secure facility on the planet."

"Level One security requires at least two escorts," Prowl answered.

"Right," Wheeljack sighed.

The tall garage door in front of us slowly rose, and as soon as it was high enough, Jolt ducked through. Prowl gestured for Wheeljack to go first, and then Dad and I followed with the Autobot second-in-command. The door began sliding down again, and I noticed that, instead of sheets of aluminum, the garage door was made of solid-looking metal strips six inches thick.

I gulped, suddenly remembering all the times Jack hadn't been able to come to the football games because he was injured and stuck on the base. Maybe tagging along _hadn't _been the best idea today. Still, too late to turn back now. I again hurried to Dad's side.

"Wait in the observation lounge," Prowl said to us. "Jolt and I will be there shortly."

Dad nodded and led us to another tall door, scanning his security key. As it lifted, I saw that this door was as thick as the one leading outside. What on Earth went on in this lab?!

"We're safe here," Dad said reassuringly as he led me into a concrete room with an enormous, dark window that took up most of one wall.

"From what?" And it annoyed me that he _still_ thought I was a chicken. Learning about Ironhide and the rest of the Autobots had shaken me, but it hadn't _scared_ me.

Dad chuckled. "Wheeljack. Or rather, his experiments. Brilliant scientist, but a little…"

"Cracked. Yeah, I know, Dad. I've known him for the last seven years."

"Anyway," he said, ignoring my attitude. (It drove me nuts when he did that.) "This observation lounge is heavily shielded. It's as safe in here as being outside, and probably a little safer."

He walked over to a computer console and tapped in a password. The window flickered to life revealing a cluttered room with various workstations, cabinets, and bits of machinery. I realized that what I thought was a window was actually a TV, or something like one, anyway. Wheeljack, Jolt, and Prowl filed into the room on display. Wheeljack rummaged around for something in a cabinet, while the other two stood back.

"Wheeljack's lab." Dad grinned sidelong at me. "There are Congressmen, Ministers of State, and five-star generals who have all wanted to stand where you are right now, and they weren't allowed in. Just so you know."

"Gee. I guess I should feel special."

"You should, Annabelle. You are."

The genuine warmth in his voice melted something in me, and I looked up at my dad. He was standing at ease, staring at the window TV as if I was a superior officer instead of his daughter. Everything about his stance and expression yelled 'guarded,' and I suddenly realized he was afraid. Of me. Of me hating him. That simple statement, 'you are,' was the first real chink I'd seen in his emotional armor since I freaked out over Ironhide.

Everybody's dad thinks they're special, I guess. My dad _knew _it. For as long as I could remember, most of my friends were grown-ups, but my best friend was always my dad. At the age of thirteen, I'd realized that the reason he fought and killed was for _me_ – to keep me safe. I'd felt guilty that Dad had to leave because of me until Hyde…Ironhide…explained that they'd be fighting regardless. I just gave Dad and Hyde a face and a name to represent all the kids they fought for. And now I was beginning to realize that all the Autobots felt a little of that, too.

Everything they'd ever done was to keep me safe, including lying to me. Mom and Dad, Ironhide and Arcee and Chromia – they must have hated every second of it, but they did it to keep me safe. Because they loved me.

"Thank you."

Dad looked down at me in surprise. "For what?"

"For everything." I tentatively stepped closer, and he seemed to understand. Dad shifted his stance, suddenly going from soldier to father, and wrapped his strong arms around me. It was my first hug in almost three weeks, and I held him tightly, resting my head on his shoulder. It felt so _good. _"For putting up with me," I added. "I'm so sorry."

"It's what dads do." He squeezed me more tightly. "And _I'm _sorry, Annabelle. We didn't prepare you like we should have."

I bitterly chuckled. "I don't know if _anything _could have prepared me for this."

"Maybe not," he allowed, "but I could have handled it better. I should have known that _my _daughter wouldn't be scared. Your mom had to explain that you were feeling betrayed not afraid, but it was a while before I could calm down enough to listen. I shouldn't have let things get so bad. Forgive me?"

It was the first time in my entire life that I could remember my dad asking for my forgiveness. It was the first time that he'd even needed it. I lifted my head to meet his gaze. "I forgive you."

He let me go, his eyes twinkling. "Thanks."


	5. Smart

The garage door opener whirred to life and I stepped away from Dad. He went back to being GI Joe, but the whole feeling between us was different now. I wasn't sure how, but we were almost back to where we were before – him my best friend and me his pride and joy. It was a pleasant surprise that it was possible to get this back, to get beyond all that negative emotion. I wanted to talk with him more, really make things right between us, but I knew that would have to wait. I was just glad the process had started.

Glancing at the screen, I saw that only Wheeljack was in his lab now. When the door was high enough, Prowl and Jolt joined us.

"We're secure," Dad said into a microphone as soon as the door closed again.

Wheeljack opened one of the cooler-looking things and, using two splinters of metal – probably Autobot armor, though I still hadn't had a chance to ask what exactly was wrong with Arcee – carefully picked up one of the pellets. "Begin log, mark. Projectiles from Ironhide. Observed characteristics: radioactivity, moderate heat, extreme density. Ability to disable Autobot systems. Apparently, the only Autobot technology immune to the slagging things is armor."

He carefully placed the pellet in what looked like a wide dish and then he hastily set the lid on top of the cooler again. "Commencing scans. Transmitting data to observation computer in real-time for backup and verification."

Weird hieroglyphs started scrolling up half of the screen, superimposed on the image of Wheeljack working. Every now and then he'd adjust something with his eyes or move his hands in a funny way, like he had sensors there.

Jolt shifted his feet behind me – it was something a human couldn't miss or ignore. "Arcee or Ratchet would be the best ones to interpret all this."

"What is it saying?" Dad asked.

"Nothing," Wheeljack answered. "There's nothing to interpret. Just fine-tuned radiation and something really solid."

"Fine-tuned?"

"It's emitting at a frequency with an unusually narrow range of variance. It's pinpointed, my guess is to concentrate the energy on the frequency that's disrupting our personal systems. Considering the weapon's effectiveness, it wasn't developed by some amateur. The very best of Decepticon engineering went into this one. My money's on Shockwave."

Dad and Prowl exchanged an unreadable glance. "That was the hunch all along. Your conclusions are noted, Wheeljack. Are you detecting anything that would indicate further risk from the pellets?"

"Besides being able to slow roast you humans for the next half-a-million years? No. In fact, there's enough power in them that I could probably use these to build an efficient little tabletop nuclear reactor, if you…"

Wheeljack building a nuclear reactor? _OI!_

"No sign whatsoever of spark energy?" Prowl demanded, thankfully cutting off that train of thought.

"None."

"Good. Operate on the working assumption that it _is _a micro Insecticon and proceed," the black-and-white Autobot ordered.

Erring on the side of caution, I guessed.

"Right. Well, if this slagging thing," Wheeljack prodded the pellet with an armor splinter, "is a micro Insecticon, then it'd have to be in protective stasis. _How _you could get even a micro Insecticon inside that, I have no idea, because once it was in there…Wait."

"What?" Dad asked.

"If it was a _drone_, you could make it work, maybe. A spark's resonance frequency would be disrupted eventually under long-term exposure to the pinpoint radiation, even if it _was_ low-level."

Prowl shifted, his doors straightening up. "Explain."

"Well, an Insecticon would die before…"

"No, the drone part," Dad clarified.

"Oh. Well, a drone is hardier, even if it is less sophisticated. You build it to spec and put it in stasis, then seal it in armor. Place a layer of the irradiated material on it – or place the material on it and then irradiate it. That would be an interesting process right there, getting the correct alloy with the proper amount of exposure to produce the pinpointed frequency without compromising the internals, because even a drone –"

"Stay with us, 'Jack," Jolt said. "You've got the drone inside the irradiated pellet. Now what?"

"Simple. Make a containment projectile out of armor with fracture-lines that will break open on impact. Aim for the head or upper-frame and gravity delivers the pellets to the mech's internal systems. Or if you're feeling particularly vicious, you could pack 'em into an armor-piercing casing, but it would still need to break open on impact to deliver the pellets. Their primary function is obvious; secondary function could be everything from reconnaissance to attack to theft. If it were me, I'd set the drones to simultaneously activate and do whatever they were going to do at a pre-arranged signal – anything from a timer to an external, remote signal like a comm, though that would require reception…"

"How do we know if that's what we're dealing with?" Dad demanded.

Wheeljack wandered over to a workbench and rummaged around for a second. "Simple. Break it open." He returned with another dish-shaped piece of armor and a couple of heavy-duty C-clamps. I shook my head in disbelief – it must drive Wheeljack nuts to be reduced to techniques this low-tech. Placing the second dish inside of the first, he began tightening down first one C-clamp and then the other on opposite sides of the dish – improvising an Insecticon nutcracker.

A truly horrific thought crossed my mind just then. "A signal like breaking them open?"

The room was silent for a beat, and then everyone looked at me. I wanted to crawl under a rock; that'd teach me to open my big mouth. Wheeljack's hand paused on the C-clamp and he looked at me through the camera or whatever. "Now whose protégé are you, Spitlet? Ironhide and Chromia certainly wouldn't have taught you to use your head half so well as that. They're great for practical things like physics – velocity, trajectory, force, and such – but nothing actually _devious_. Who taught you to be _smart_?"

I gulped and looked from Prowl to Jolt and then finally to my dad. He was fighting a smile, and I relaxed a little. With his weird face-mask, I hadn't been sure if Wheeljack was joking or not. "It was…Mudflap. And Skids. They're always telling me stories at the football games. I thought they were just cool sci-fi ones, but I realized a couple of weeks ago that they were true. True stories about them. And almost every story had booby-traps of some kind."

Jolt started quivering, and I worried that maybe I'd made him upset until he busted out in a roar of laughter. He was so loud in that echoing, concrete room that I had to cover my ears. Dad and Wheeljack laughed with him, but Prowl just twitched his doors again.

"Skids and Mudflap!" Jolt chortled. "Wait 'til I tell Ironhide and Chromia!"

"I certainly hope you have the opportunity to tell Ironhide," Prowl said over Jolt's continued guffaws. "Wheeljack, do not proceed until we have all the pellets in containment."

"Pause log, mark," Wheeljack ordered the computer.

"How many are left in him?" Dad asked, sobering a little.

"Two," Prowl answered.

"How do you know?" I'd been curious about it ever since we'd joined Prowl today and he seemed to know everything that was going on.

"Internal comm. It's analogous to your text messaging."

Wait. "So…I could text any of you guys anytime?"

"Yes. That was the purpose in giving you an Autobot-enabled phone."

I started giggling. Sometimes I wondered if Prowl was really as cold as he seemed or if he just had a very dry sense of humor and a killer poker-face. "Autobot-enabled?"

"Pre-programmed with all of our comm frequencies."

"It's a little upgrade I developed," Wheeljack said amiably. "It's not like we Autobots are on your family calling plan. Your cell phone is one of a half-dozen highly advanced and top-secret prototypes."

"Under the table," Jolt clarified.

Prowl made a sound suspiciously like clearing his throat. "A direct violation of one of our own stipulations in the Alien Autobot Cooperation Act."

"Yes," Wheeljack said, shuffling a little like he was embarrassed. "Well, you can make regular calls on it, but it also has a transmitter programmed with each unique Autobot frequency. And a boosted range."

"How boosted?"

"In terms of texting? On a clear day, you could reach cell towers in Mumbai from here."

My jaw dropped and Jolt chuckled.

"It also has a self-destruct subroutine," Wheeljack continued. "If you ever lose it, you must notify us immediately so we can terminate it and give you a new one. Even technology as innocent-seeming as your phone could be disastrous in the wrong hands."

Innocent? James Bond would be freaking jealous of it! "Sure. Makes sense." An idea struck me. "What if you're not home? Can I leave messages?"

The Autobots looked confused, but Dad seemed to catch my drift. "No. There's no server to store the message if they're out of range, and they usually turn off their comms before going into recharge, erm, going to sleep."

Or while they were unconscious in the med bay. That was probably just as well; Ironhide deserved to hear my apology in person. But there were two Autobots I needed to text. "Okay. Could you, um, excuse me a minute?"

"Sure," Dad said, approval in his eyes. "We'll need to just relax for a few minutes anyway until the last of the pellets get here."

They started talking in more detail with Wheeljack about the scans he'd run, giving me a little bit of privacy. I pulled my backpack off and rummaged around in it until I found my phone. Pulling up Chromia, I sent, //I was a complete brat and deleted your texts, so I don't know what you were trying to say. It was wrong of me. I was wrong. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Or if you can't do that, text me and cuss me out until you can. K? Please?//

I sent the same thing to Arcee. And then I anxiously began to wait. Nothing. I started to fiddle with my phone, playing with the settings. I changed the background, snapped off a picture of my backpack for practice, and curiously scrolled through the contacts. I was impressed – they had _everyone _programmed in, including Optimus Prime and Dad's office number. I even had both Sam's and Mikaeala's numbers for home, work, and cell.

I checked the time – it had been two minutes.

Arcee's text came back as undeliverable, so I assumed that she was resting or something. "Is there any place on the island where an Autobot wouldn't be in range?"

Wheeljack made a snorting sound and genially said, "You're getting reception in here, what does that tell you?"

"Good point."

Well, at least Arcee wasn't giving me a taste of my own medicine. Yet. I sighed. Honestly, what did I expect? After being rude to everyone for the last two and a half weeks, would they all just break out in song when I deigned to speak to them again? Sure, they loved me, but I'd hurt them. The force of the knowledge made something in my chest ache. I'd really, truly, terribly hurt them. People who had loved me and been my friends my entire life, and I'd treated them like dirt. It wasn't even their fault that they had to lie to me.

_Chime_. A text from Chromia. I eagerly opened it. //You slagging little glitch. There. That's a good all-around insult in Autobot.//

Oh crap. She was _pissed_. But she had every right to be.

A few minutes later, my phone chimed again. I opened it with dread this time. //My mate's life is hanging by a thread, and you choose NOW to apologize. Great timing, femme.//

Well, at least she didn't swear at me this time.

A few minutes later – _chime_. //The last pellet's out. I'm on my way to give you what's coming to you, Spitlet.//

Fingers shaky, I texted, //My dad's here. Please make an excuse to get him outside if you're going to kill me. And for the janitors' sake, don't make it too messy.//

The door began to open beside me and I scrambled to my feet, pocketing the cell phone and putting on my backpack. Time to face my fate.

I'd never seen Mia actually get violent. No one was ever stupid enough to provoke her – until now. I wondered if she'd just slap me or if she'd go so far as to throw a punch. I was relying on the fact that she had loved me to keep me safe from her infamous arsenal. It would probably be enough. I mean, I'd invited her to my birthday slumber party – that had to count for something, right?

Before the door was five feet off the ground, a blue motorcycle carrying two figures streaked into the room. Mia – the human Mia – jumped off the back seat of her bike and threw her arms around me. I stiffened. I hadn't anticipated her tackling me before she pummeled me. But we didn't fall down. She was laughing. Hugging me so tight I could barely breathe, she happily laughed, swaying back and forth a little bit.

Letting me go, she took me by the shoulders and shook me just a little bit, grinning from ear to ear. "Say it, you scrapping squishy. Say it."

"Say what?"

"That you're a slagging little glitch."

"I'm a slagging little glitch," I dutifully repeated, "and I'm so sorry, Mia!"

Mia hugged me again, and I breathlessly laughed with her this time. As the other person on the bike took off her helmet, I realized she was Mom. Looking at Dad, she said, "Did she honestly think Mia was going to kill her?"

"With Chromia, you never know," Wheeljack said from the safety of his lab.

"Shut up," she amiably shot back.

"Here we are." The engineer turned as Prime and Prowl both walked into the lab, Prime carrying the last container of pellets. I hadn't even noticed Prowl step out. He was over fifteen feet tall for crying out loud. How did I miss that? Wheeljack dumped their container into the one we'd brought over and replaced the lids. "Good. Now if you two will go back up to the observation lounge…"

"Are you sure you don't want at least one of us down here?" Optimus asked.

"I may not be a melee warrior, Prime, but worst case scenario, I should be able to handle a few microCon drones. Besides, you'll be just a minute away."

Nodding, the Autobot leader and his right-hand man, er, 'bot left the lab. Once we were all sealed behind the garage/blast doors, Dad gave Wheeljack the go-ahead. "We're secure."

'Jack began tightening down the C-clamps again. "Resume log, mark. Fracture-testing the sample pellet to reveal internal composition…"

Funny how he could make it sound so cool and professional. I would have just said 'crushing the stupid thing to see what's inside.'

We waited in silence as he shifted from one side to the other, applying more pressure until the pellet gave way with a _crunk._ A split second later, the lid flipped away from the open cooler and several dozen black things came flying out. Micro Insecticon drones. The other cooler tipped over but the lid's seal held.

"OUCH!" Wheeljack cried as they swarmed him, shooting little orange projectiles at him. One splatted on an eye, short-circuiting it.

Beside me, the garage door began rising. "We're on our way," Prime declared.

"No – ow – stay there! _Ow!_ I've got it."

Chromia transformed and made an unhappy sound, and both she and Prime waited anxiously by the slowly-rising door.

"Don't want to let – ow – them out!" Shielding his good eye, Wheeljack staggered to a steel cabinet and grabbed what looked like a couple cans of paint. Waving away the stinging drones, he sloshed one can into the dish-shaped armor pan on top of the crushed drone. Opening the second can, he bellowed, "Blast dampeners!"

"Cover your eyes!" Dad barked.

My hands flew to my face, but I still saw a flash of light through my clenched eyelids.

"REPORT!" Prowl demanded. I blinked several times, seeing after-images from the flash.

"Still functioning," Wheeljack said. "Those drones stung like the Pit, though."

Chromia ducked under the door.

"Activating ventilation systems," Dad said, pushing a few buttons.

"Filter protocol zeta 22," Wheeljack ordered.

"Copy that." Under his breath, Dad said, "Good thing the EPA doesn't know about this place."

Prime impatiently dropped back into his truck form and roared under the door, starting to transform again as soon as he was on the other side.

I looked back at the window TV and the smoky image on the screen slowly cleared. Wheeljack – covered in scorch-marks on the right side of his body and with one eye still lifeless – was now curiously poking one of the blackened, inert drones lying on the table. The tipped-over cooler was rolling around on the bench, an angry hum coming from under its secured lid.

"What happened?" I asked.

Jolt chuckled as he and Prowl ducked under the door. "Wheeljack discovered the cure for micro Insecticon drones: Autobot bug-bomb."

"Just call me the Terminator," Wheeljack joked back.


	6. First Contact

Author's Note (Eowyn77): Sorry about the delay, but this fic (and its companion pieces) will be my focus for a while. Hope you enjoy! :)

A shout-out to RK-Striker-JK5 for recommending this collaborative profile for the TV Tropes & Idioms as part of "the remaining 10% is worth dying for." :) Thanks so much!

Also, since I apparently confused a few people with this...I have the Autobots all bunking together in a barracks. In the movie, they all apparently live in the main hangar with no privacy whatsoever. I'm hoping that by the time Annabelle's 15yo, though, the humans will have learned to trust them enough to give them at least that much 'personal space.' :) So Annabelle catches up with Ratchet in the Autobot barracks, not Ratchet's own private quarters.

* * *

Jolt helped Wheeljack limp back up to the surface, and Mom, Dad, and I walked with them to the main hangar. By now, the sun was starting to set. "What about everyone else?" I asked Dad, glancing over my shoulder at the lab. Even though she'd forgiven me, I still had a lot of making up to do with Chromia.

"Prime's going to study the _terminated_ drones," Jolt said, and Wheeljack chuckled through his pain at the joke, "and Chromia's guarding the ones that are still online. Prowl's still there because, well, he's Prowl. He's guarding Prime."

"I bet Optimus just _loves _that," I muttered.

"Drove him nuts for the first thousand years or so," Wheeljack chuckled. "But he's learned to more or less ignore them – Prowl and Ironhide tag-team him. Optimus assigned Ironhide to Iron Will before Prowl arrived just so he could have a couple years of breathing room."

"Yeah, whatever," Dad amiably grumbled. "They just love my ladies so much that they can't bear the thought of them all alone and unprotected."

"Because your femmes need protecting as much as Optimus does," Jolt sarcastically agreed.

As we neared the med bay, a human in a mechanic's jumpsuit stood in front of the doorway, his arms crossed. I recognized him – this was Johnston again, minus the hazmat suit. He authoritatively pointed at the floor and said in his wonderful British accent, "What did you do this time, 'Jack? Haven't we enough damaged mechs for one day?"

"You should see the 'cons," Wheeljack said, sinking down to lie on the ground. "I single-handedly killed more than forty of them. My lab is a scene of carnage."

"Well, that's nothing new," Johnston dryly answered as he pushed a rolling tool chest toward Wheeljack. I guessed they were going to fix him up out here instead of disturbing Ratchet again. Not that I blamed them. "Although in fourteen years, I've never met a delirious Autobot before. Not unless he was overcharged. What did you have in the mix?"

After fiddling with something in Wheeljack's neck, Johnston rummaged around in one of the tool chest's drawers until he pulled out an unfamiliar tool and a spare Autobot eye. Wheeljack turned his head so that Johnston to could reach his face.

"He's not delirious," Dad explained. "The pellets in Ironhide were micro Insecticon drones. They attacked when he broke one of them open. And you'll want to be careful with that orange stuff – I think it's the same material that was on the outside of the pellets."

"You're correct," Wheeljack said. "It should be hardened enough now that you could remove it with tongs."

Johnston nodded and began removing the damaged eye. "Good thing you waited until they were all out of Ironhide."

I looked away, unable to watch.

Dad caught my eye and winked at me. "Yes, it was."

My heart warmed as I realized that _I _was the one who had made them wait. I had helped! But not much. Not enough. "How's Ironhide?"

I still couldn't look at Johnston, but I heard him answer, "He'll pull through, but it will be a long recovery. Everything is pretty mucked up. Unfortunately, his repair systems received the most damage. Arcee's working on him now. Ratchet's finishing his energon and then he'll recharge. I wouldn't try visiting Ironhide again, Spitlet, not until Ratchet gives the go-ahead after he wakes up."

Great, even the _human _NEST members were calling me that. "My name is _Annabelle_, thank you very much."

Johnston hesitated a moment. "Annabelle," he corrected himself and continued, "He was still grumbling about you going in there when he left to get his ration."

Another 'bot I needed to apologize to. And then I remembered what he'd said. "_Arcee's_ the one working on him?"

"Yeah. She's…before the War, she and Ratchet worked together with Prime. They were both pretty skilled, but when the fighting broke out, Ratchet specialized in repair and she focused more on being a warrior. Arcee's a fairly decent medic in her own right. That's why she always goes stateside with Mrs. Lennox on her annual pilgrimage," he nodded deferentially at Mom, "so she can do a check-up for Bumblebee." (Mom caught a flight once a year to California to check on her ranch. There were some things that only the legal owner could do. And it gave the family friend who ran the ranch for us a chance to have a vacation.)

Fifteen years, and she'd never let on that she was a doctor, too. There was still _so much_ I didn't know about them!

"There," Johnston said, "your optic's as good as new."

"That's because it _is_ new," Wheeljack pointed out.

I wasn't sure if I should laugh or just shake my head in disbelief. Daring to look, I saw that 'Jack was turning his head to stare at the ceiling, both his eyes blue again. Johnston pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and consulted the screen. "Prime says you also have two burned out motor relays and a ruptured hydraulic line." Pocketing the phone again, he retrieved a pair of tongs and began prying the orange splatters off Wheeljack, dropping the stuff into another one of the thermos-looking things. "Any other damage you care to report? And don't try to pull another fast one, because Ratchet promised me I could turn your pain sensors back on for repairs the next time you lied to one of us."

Wheeljack sighed. "You mechanics always overreact. It's nothing that can't wait for Ratchet or Arcee."

Johnston menacingly hefted the tool he'd been using, but Dad stopped him. "Wheeljack, it's for Ratchet and his repair team to decide what can wait and what can't."

"Fine. But it's nothing, really. Just a minor energon line leaking."

"_And_ a hydraulic line?" Johnston sputtered. "Where?!"

"Both in my right shoulder."

"And Murphy's Law dictates that they'll both near some exposed neural wiring." Pointing like he was commanding a dog, Johnston ordered, "Stay." Looking to Jolt, he said, "I might need your help with this for a minute or two. I can walk you through sealing those lines if you need me to, but it's a stop for me, Ratchet's orders."

"Just 'cause you're not covered in almost-indestructible armor?" Jolt lamely joked. "We all know about Quinn's Cocktail. Sure I can help."

"And that's our cue to clear out," Dad said, escorting Mom and me back toward the human side of NEST.

"What's Quinn's Cocktail?" I asked in a low voice.

"Some of the fluids in the Autobots' bodies don't react well together under certain circumstances. Quinn got some bad chemical burns a couple of years back. He's okay now, but only because Ratchet worked on him for several days. Ratchet's had the human repair team take a few more precautions since then. Just to be on the safe side."

"Where _is_ Ratchet?" I abruptly asked, remembering again that he was still mad at me for barging into the med bay. He would be easier to apologize to than Arcee or Ironhide.

"He's had a rough day," Mom began, but Dad interrupted her.

"I think it might be good for him."

Giving me a cautious look, Mom nodded, and we doubled back, headed to the Autobot side again. We turned right this time, once we were through the giant door. The hall was short in this direction, and I was surprised that, instead of using his security key, Dad softly knocked on the door at the end of the hallway. After a moment, it swished open.

It was an enormous, concrete-and-steel barracks. The walls were lined with large platforms about eight feet off the ground, with shelves another twenty feet up that held what looked like personal belongings. Underneath each platform were several metal crates, some locked and some open. In the middle of the room, the floor was sunken by a drop of about four or five feet, marking off an area maybe forty feet in circumference. That space was open, and the floor of the circle was beautifully, abstractly painted. The only light in the room was a set of dim track-lights directly above the circle that pointed straight down. Sitting cross-legged in the circle of light and leaning against the low wall was Ratchet. His head was bowed, and in his hands, he held a…well it looked like a fifty-gallon oil drum, to be honest.

The door swished closed behind me. I gave Dad an uncertain look, and he nodded me forward. Mom gave me a little, encouraging smile, but they both hung back near the door. We all knew this was something I had to do by myself. My big, grown-up self. It was time to own up and start making things right. Squaring my shoulders, I stepped forward, making my way across the huge room toward Ratchet. It was impossible to not feel small here, and I was a lot less brave without Dad by my side or guiding me.

Ratchet didn't move or acknowledge me at all, and I wondered if he was already asleep. Nervously, I glanced again at the platforms, noticing for the first time that we weren't alone. A motionless silver Autobot was laying on one, and a golden robot was on the next platform over. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, I realized. Neither of them showed any signs of life; it was quiet as death in the room, except for the light clop of my sandals on the concrete.

I hopped down into the lit-up circle, landing rather gracelessly on all fours, but I was okay. The room wasn't cold, but my fingertips were, and I realized I was starting to hyperventilate. This was Ron Hatchett, I reminded myself. Same person, different form. That's all. He was still the kind doctor who cured my every ill. Still the man who brought me Christmas presents every year. Still the one who growled at Hyde across the scrimmage line and smacked Skids upside the head when he started fighting with his brother.

Autobot Ratchet was more intimidating up close. I stood at his feet, and even sitting down, he was much taller than me. He still didn't say anything or move, and I glanced back at Mom and Dad, but they were on the other side of the light, and I couldn't see their faces. Taking a deep breath, I rested my shaky hand on a smooth piece of armor, making physical contact with an Autobot for the first time.

Ratchet stirred, lifting his head ever so slightly but not looking at me. His voice was soft and tired. "Do you need something, Spitlet?"

I'd never heard him like this – the exhaustion and grief were quiet but unmistakable. "Can I see your holoform?" I asked in a voice even quieter than his.

"I'm worn out, child. Your curiosity can wait."

"But I don't know how to hug you in this form."

Two points of light on his face flickered to life and he slowly raised his head.

Feeling braver, I added, "And you look like someone who could use a hug."

He wearily chuckled. "I really am too tired to produce a holoform right now."

I nodded once to myself and, trying to not think about what I was _really_ doing, started climbing onto his leg. He set down the barrel and extended one hand so I could climb up on it. Holding me up to eye-level, he smiled ever so slightly. "You are a tenacious little thing, aren't you."

"I'm the daughter of Will and Sarah Lennox. What do you expect? Now are you going to let me hug you or not?"

He shook his head a little, and I worried he was saying no, but then he moved the hand I was kneeling on up to his chest just below his neck. I reached my arms out and embraced the supple cables and the surprisingly-warm metal – as much as I could reach, anyway. "Thank you, Ratchet," I said softly, resting my head against him. "Thank you for saving Sideswipe and for helping Ironhide." I remembered then that he was angry about not being able to do anything for 'Hide. "We mere mortals wouldn't know the first thing about helping him if it weren't for you. And…I'm sorry I upset you earlier."

"You upset all of us," he gruffly reminded me.

My cheeks warmed in embarrassment. "I know. And if Ironhide survives long enough for me to say sorry to him, it'll be thanks to you.

"He _will_ live, Spitlet. I don't know how long it will be before you can talk with him, but he _will_ live."

"Thank you."

He chuckled again. "I didn't do it for you, but you're welcome. Now it's time for you to go. I desperately need to recharge."

I sat back on my heels, and he lifted me away and down to the ground, setting me outside of the circle. I was grateful for that – it would have been really hard to climb out. "You did it every time, didn't you," I said, looking up into the blue light of his eyes. "Every time Ironhide's been hurt, you were the one who patched him up."

"Since arriving on Earth, yes. Except for minor problems my repair team fixes."

And never once had we thanked him. Well, Mom and Dad might have, but I never did. I thought about how Mom and I always gave the truck a good wash after every deployment, and how often there was damage to the pickup somewhere.

Sudden inspiration struck. "When he's feeling better, come out to our place with him, and I'll give you a wash and a wax. It's your turn for a change."

He shifted uncomfortably. "You don't need to do that, Spitlet."

I gritted my teeth at the name but decided it wasn't worth ruining the moment. "I know I don't. And you didn't have to let me in or listen to my apologies or forgive me. So…get some sleep and dream of getting the royal treatment next time you're at our house."

"We'll talk about it."

I planted my hands on my hips. "If I have to hunt you down, I'm going to give you a proper thank you. Deal with it."

He rose to his impressive height and planted his hands on _his_ hips. "Is that so?"

I gulped and then jutted out my chin. "Yes." The word sounded much more confident than I felt.

He slouched, no doubt too tired to put up much of a fight. "Then I'll see you soon. Now get out of here."

Placing my hand against his warm armor one more time, I said, "Sweet dreams."

I turned and was almost to the door when he said, "We don't dream."

Stopping, I looked back at him, but he was climbing onto one of the sleeping platforms. "We process the day's events," he continued, settling in, "but we don't have the nocturnal hallucinations you do. However, I will spend as much time as possible processing your hug. Good night."

Giving him a half-smile, I said, "Good night, Ratchet."


	7. Apology Accepted

Author's Notes (Eowyn77): If you missed it, I recently posted a companion fic for this story titled "Transformers for Christmas." Enjoy! :)

* * *

When the door to the Autobot barracks closed behind us, Dad slung his arm around my shoulder. "I'm proud of you, young lady."

"Told you she'd come around," Mom said with a satisfied smile. "After all, who _wouldn't_ want to hang out with Autobots?"

"Someone who knew Skids and Mudflap?" I shot back, but then I frowned at myself. In a roundabout way, they were part of Ironhide surviving today, too. Even those immature punks deserved an apology from me.

Dad scanned his badge and the door to the main hanger swished open. Someone up on the communications center hollered down to Dad, so Mom and I continued over toward the only Autobot we could see. Wheeljack was now cleaned up and sitting up, holding an oil-drum similar to Ratchet's in one hand. In the other, he held a cell phone, upon which he was apparently reading a text message. His shoulders were shaking.

"What's the joke?" Mom asked.

'Jack jerked his thumb down the wide corridor to the med-bay. "I'd forward it to you," he sniggered, "but it might burn your ears."

We rounded the corner to see two dumpy little Autobots – one orange and one green. Johnston was working on the green one, but the orange one leapt to his feet at the sight of us. Mom's and my phones chimed simultaneously. Mom sighed. "Ah, boys. What are we going to do with you?"

"Use their parts to repair Ironhide?" Johnston hopefully asked in his charming British lilt.

"You know Prime would never go for that," Wheeljack said, sounding almost regretful. "We could use some more spare parts, too."

"You turned their vocal processors off again?" Mom scolded Johnston.

"And kept their pain sensors on," he answered. "Ratchet's orders. And if they keep it up, I'm allowed to turn off their comms, too."

All three phones – mine, Mom's, and Wheeljack's – chimed and Wheeljack sniggered again as he read it.

Johnston whacked Orange over the head in a lightning-quick wrench-strike. "I heard that."

"Amazing," Wheeljack said.

I felt like they were talking in some kind of code just to annoy me. "What?!"

Mom chuckled. "Johnston has the preternatural ability to tell when the twins are bad-mouthing him while he's working on them. Even when it's just over their comms."

Twins. These must be Skids and Mudflap. That explained everything.

"I've scanned all six of the mechanics dozens of times," Wheeljack said enthusiastically. "I don't know how they do it!"

Johnston grunted. "Fourteen years of mucking about in their guts, and it's a miracle I'm not some kind of mutant Autobot myself."

"Quinn learned it first and teaches it to the new recruits at the year mark," Mom murmured. "It's a repair-team thing. They won't tell anyone how they do it."

"Except Ratchet," Wheeljack grumped.

"So how'd you guys get hurt?" I asked the twins.

Only my cell-phone chimed this time, and I pulled it out of my pocket.

The first text was from Skids. //It's da Spits! We's saved!//

_The Spits_? Okay, that was a hundred times worse than 'Spitlet,' and not just because it was also insulting my mother.

The second one really was from Mudflap. How _did _Johnston know that? I opened the text. //Prime-fragging mechanic! Dis is slaggin' TORTURE! He a slaggin' CON! DEY'S **ALL **CONS!//

The third and fourth texts had arrived at the same time and were from Mudflap and Skids respectively. They both said, //He started it!//

Yep. That was Skids and Mudflap for you. Just like Sunny and Sides, they were almost transparently the same knuckleheads I knew from the football games. I chuckled, thinking my life must be _really_ insane when the twins (both sets) were my anchors to reality.

"Don't listen to their sniveling, ladies," Johnston said almost casually. "They were duly warned. Ratchet said that if there was any infighting today we were to repair the perpetrators mercilessly. And if a merciless repair didn't teach them a little respect for us and the things the Autobots put us through, then we could repair them brutally. And if a brutal repair didn't cut it, then we could even escalate to a savage repair. We've only had to do that once, though today I'm tempted to try another go-round."

Catching me staring at him horrorstruck, Johnston winked. My phone chimed with a text, this time from Wheeljack. //Merciless = no voice. Brutal = Pain-sensors on. Savage = no comm. Vicious = no motor relays. Ratchet repair = involuntary stasis. Primus repair = medically-defensible offlining. The code is also on display in the med bay on a poster the Vette twins made for Ratchet.//

My shoulders shook with silent laughter. That was so mean, but then again, Skids and Mudflap probably deserved a 'brutal' repair on a good day. "If it's any consolation guys, _all _my repairs have been brutal ones. Be grateful you _can _turn the pain sensors off."

"THANK YOU, Spitlet!" Johnston said appreciatively.

"Annabelle," I corrected.

With an apologetic sidelong glance, he said, "Annabelle." To the twins he said, "That little femme's got more circuits and steel to her than the both of you put together. If you could take it like a girl, we'd let you keep your voices!"

I wasn't sure if I should feel flattered or insulted.

"She's the one who figured out the pellets," Wheeljack interjected, sounding amused. "With a little help from you twins."

Skids looked at me hopefully. //We hepped?//

Johnston tapped him lightly on the head but didn't make any overt threats. Wheeljack pushed a couple of folding chairs our direction.

"Yeah," I said, settling into the chair with a grateful smile at 'Jack. "I remembered all the stories you guys told me about booby traps and thought that destroying one of the pellets might be a good way to spring a trap if there was one. Turned out I was right. Guess you two and whats-his-face think alike."

"Shockwave," Wheeljack growled, his engine revving in a way that was disturbingly similar to Sunstreaker's. The sound made the hairs on my arm stand up just because it was so shocking coming from him. He may be one of the most easy-going of the Autobots, but I remembered with sudden respect that he'd willingly taken that blast in the lab. For being so likeable, he was damn tough.

//We's as smart as Shockwave?// Skids broadcast, beaming.

//'Course we is!// Mudflap sent, jumping up and gyrating exultantly.

Wheeljack read both texts out loud for Johnston, and I realized belatedly that it must be the mechanic's phone.

"I think it's more that you're both so slow that you all shared a thought when he lapped you," Johnston shot back, chucking a bolt as thick as my wrist at the still-dancing Mudflap. "You're distracting me."

"Why does he need Wheeljack to read it for him?" I whispered to Mom.

"Because they weren't insulting him," Wheeljack said. "He'd have heard it otherwise."

It was like a sleight of hand magic trick. Of course Johnston would know if a text was insulting if Wheeljack only read the non-insulting ones. "But…"

"Later," Mom said with a wink. "Boys," she said to the twins, "if you promise to behave like gentlemen, I could probably persuade Johnston to let you tell us another tall tale or two."

//We's always good fo' Will's ladies!// Skids sent. Mudflap clasped his hands in a praying, pleading gesture and fell to his knees next to Johnston's step-ladder. Wheeljack read the text out loud for Johnston.

"Primus, I'm going soft!" the mechanic exclaimed, climbing down and retrieving what looked suspiciously like a TV remote. "I'm giving you your voices back, but only if you're as tough as Spitl…Annabelle." Johnston pointed the device at Mudflap and punched in a series of codes, releasing the Autobot's voice.

"Spitfire!" He walked across to us on his knees and caught Mom's hand up in his, pressing her palm to his cheek. "Primus sent yas two, I swear!"

"Ya so full of slag, Spitlet," Skids said when Johnston turned his voice back on. "I knows Ratchet gives ya pain killers."

"Annabelle," I hissed at him.

"That's not the same," Mom said authoritatively, ignoring me. "That diminishes the pain, but it doesn't actually remove it. At best, it'd be like having your pain sensors operating at 20% capacity. For anything more serious than a dent or scrape, we have to power down the systems in the area or go into stasis. And we don't pop pills for everything."

"I'd say Johnston's humoring you," Wheeljack added. "He might just go vicious on you if you don't toe the line."

"Right!" Mudflap cut in, clearly not wanting his voice shut down again. "Will's liddlest lady wants a story."

…

Dad had rejoined us, both the twins were fully repaired and we were into our third story of the evening when the med bay doors opened. Arcee stopped in her tracks seeing us there, and I launched myself at her. It was proof of just how much the twins and Wheeljack had set me at ease that I didn't even think twice. I grabbed her around the waist (she was almost exactly twice as tall as me), making her stagger back.

"OH!" I stepped away. "You're wounded, too, aren't you!"

Arcee stooped and caught me up in a hug. I sat on her overlapping arms just like I did when I was little and she was carrying me in her holoform, and I wrapped my arms around her neck, even more comfortable here than I was with Ratchet. "It was just my spark," she said gently, "and you healed it. Chromia said you were talking to us again."

My eyes squeezed tight against the tears. "I'm sorry, Arcee. So sorry. Whether you're River or an alien robot warrior, I…"

She softly sang, "_A part of me, yet all your own, mine until you're grown_. You have nothing to apologize for, Spitlet."

"Aw," Mudflap said sarcastically before I could correct her on my name, "now ain't dat sweet."

Skids added, "I didn know ya was such a softy, femme!"

Arcee shifted ever so slightly, supporting my weight with one arm, and something clicked into place on her free hand. The twins started screaming and scampering out of her way.

"You break it," Johnston drawled, "you fix it!"

Arcee sighed and put away what I could only assume was a weapon. "_Both_ your names are mud!" she shouted after them and then grumbled under her breath, "Ruining the moment for me."

I grinned and she set me back on my feet, rumpling my hair a little. "And don't worry about me. One of my bikes got smashed – again – but I'm fine to just use one component for now."

My brow furrowed. "You lost me."

Arcee sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged with her back to the wall. (She often sat like that at home and I had to wonder if it was a gesture she'd picked up while acting human or an Autobot thing that she'd done in her holoform.) "I'm a base-form triple-changer." At my blank expression, she explained, "Most 'bots have a single vehicle form and a single robot mode. Your typical triple changer has a base mode and two alt-modes, usually a ground vehicle and a flyer. You follow?"

"Not really," I admitted.

"Okay, for example, Megatron can change into either a tank or a plane, depending on what he wants."

"Okay?"

"That's your typical triple-changer. For me, I only have one alt-form, but I have two robot modes. My alt-form is three motorcycles. I can transform myself into three little bike-sized robots or the three components can combine into one larger 'bot. But it's always me."

I blinked for a second, trying to imagine it. "Wow!"

She chuckled. "So yeah, one of my bikes got smashed and the other one's pretty banged up. I pulled my consciousness out of the other two and am just using my one component right now. When we get around to fixing the other two, I'll use all three components again."

"Wow," I repeated. "So how come I've only ever seen the one bike?"

She smiled at me. "Because it raises a lot fewer questions if there aren't three of us wandering around talking in the plural all the time."

I laughed. "Yeah, that would get you some attention." And just like with Dad, it was almost like Arcee and I were back to normal.

She looked at the rest of us. "So why are you all hanging out here?"

"The pellets were drones," Dad explained. "They attacked Wheeljack before he took out half of them, so he came here for repairs. The rest of us were just waiting for official word about 'Hide."

Arcee nodded, acknowledging Dad. "Ratchet says Ironhide will come around in forty-eight hours. I'd give the tough old slagger thirty-six, but we'll see. This was a new weapon with a new pattern of damage, so it's difficult to know exactly what kind of recovery we're talking about."

"But he'll be okay eventually?" I said, not quite able to keep the worry and pleading out of my voice.

"Yes," she gravely assured me. "Eventually."

Relieved, I took a deep breath, knowing she wouldn't lie to me about this. "Thanks."

"Sure thing, Spitlet."

"Would you please _stop_ calling me that!"

Arcee looked uncertainly at first Mom and then Wheeljack before turning her intense blue optics on me. "Okay…Annabelle."

Mom and Dad shared a meaningful look, and then all business-like, Mom said, "So who's staying overnight with Ironhide?"

"I am," I firmly declared.

"You have school tomorrow," Mom pointed out.

"All the more reason for me to be here now," I answered.

"The med bay's only equipped with one cot," she argued.

"We can get another one," Dad offered, trying to diffuse us.

Johnston cleared his throat, getting all our attention. "That's why the twins were fighting – they were arguing over who got to play hotel room for whichever of Lennox women would be staying over."

"It would help keep the peace if you both stayed," Wheeljack added.

"And peace is something we could use a little of right now," Arcee said under her breath.

Mom looked at me, a question in her eyes, and I nodded. Yes, we would both stay. "Get the twins back here, then," Mom said. "And we'll need a ride home to pack overnight bags. Annabelle will need to pick up her homework for tomorrow, too."

"I can give you a lift," Wheeljack offered.

"You sure? I could just borrow a car."

He chuckled as he transformed. "Positive."

…

Mom packed her bag more quickly than I did, and so she joined me in my bedroom. "Annabelle?"

"Yeah?"

"Spitlet is your Autobot designation."

I froze. "My what?"

"Your Autobot name," she said in quiet reproof, "to make you part of the tribe. Bumblebee named your father Iron Will, and Arcee gave me the designation of Spitfire. Mudflap designated you Spitlet. Every time you tell them to not call you that, it's a slap in the face."

I sank down to sit on the bed, putting my face in my hands. "But the name _sucks_."

She chuckled. "I guess it _doesn't_ suit you anymore. I'll discretely suggest to Optimus that they should come up with a new one. But in the meantime, they think you're rejecting your place with them."

Is that what they really thought, that I was _rejecting _them? Of course, that's what I'd been doing for the last two and a half weeks, so I could kind of see where they were coming from. Great, another reason to feel guilty.

Mom put her arm around my shoulder and hugged me to her side for a second. "Come on. Actions will speak louder than words, and we'll keep watch over 'Hide. Just…don't do it again."

I heaved a sigh and then picked up my duffle. "I won't. I promise."


	8. Forgiven

Author's Note: For Kaede Akira and others who have clamored to see Ironhide alive and well, here's an extra-fast update. :)

Also, a cube of high-grade to Jason M. Lee for recognizing the real-world inspiration for my Ratchet's toy design. We have a Bumblebee and an Optimus Prime Gravity Bot and I thought for sure those things wouldn't last a month. We've had them for almost half a year now, and they've survived being regularly played with by autistic toddlers. Those scrapping things are TOUGH! :) (If you search for "Gravity Bots" on Hasbro's website, you can see what I'm talking about.)

Now...on with the show! :)

* * *

It's amazing how many lumps and bumps are on an Autobot's chest – all gears and wires and tubing and armor plates. It's also amazing how, if you're persistent enough, you can find a comfortable place next to the spark of someone whose chassis is as unforgiving as Ironhide's. Ratchet helped a lot with that, I have to admit, positioning Ironhide's arms so that his front tires were exposed a little more. It was marginally softer than the surrounding gears, but I took what I could get and perched there, my hand resting on the foot-thick armor that protected his spark. Ratchet thought the contact close to 'Hide's spark might be helpful in some vague way.

I suspected it was more that Ratchet didn't know what else to do. The external injuries were almost insignificant (especially for Ironhide who, I'd been told, was quite literally tough as nails), and the damaged internal parts had been replaced. It was the electrical relays and circuits that had taken the most damage, and that was all so minute and wide-spread that Ratchet didn't even try to repair it all. He'd replaced the relays that needed it, repaired the most critical circuits, and then just placed his trust in Primus and in Ironhide's own repair systems. Every day, Ratchet did a little more work on him, but he didn't like to keep Ironhide sedated for long, because the slagger should have woken up already. It had been two and a half days now.

So Mom and I became like lucky rabbits' feet – comforting but useless. We took turns, and Dad did, too, when he wasn't on duty, cuddling up to Ironhide's spark chamber. We'd go through the motions of life – eating, showering, going to school, working shifts – but one or the other of us was always with Ironhide.

Time passes slowly when you're keeping watch with the dying. Ratchet and Arcee both assured me that Ironhide would come around, but I until could see the light in his eyes, um…optics, and apologize for being such a brat, it felt like my life was teetering on the edge of some terrible brink. Each passing second weighed heavily on my heart.

Mom was dozing on the med-bay cot; she hadn't slept well last night. Lost in my worried thoughts, I stroked the warm, silvery metal that protected Ironhide's spark. What was taking him so long?

Arcee came into the med bay and glanced up at me. "How are you doing, Annabelle?"

I half-laughed. "Okay. You?"

"Me?" she asked coyly. "I'm suspicious."

"About what?"

"About you. I'll bet you're bored to tears."

I shook my head. This was part of my penance for treating them all so badly. If boredom was the worst they would let me endure, I was getting off easy. Way too easy.

"This might cheer you up," she said, walking back into a storage area of the med bay. A moment later she returned with a smudged-up and worn cardboard box in her hands. Climbing the platform to where she could reach me, she offered it to me. "If nothing else, it should bring back some memories."

Curiosity got the better of me, and I took the box, pulling back the folded flaps that closed the top. It was full of cars – toy transforming cars. A Christmas present from Ratchet and the younger twins many years ago.

Tears filled my eyes as I picked up the black truck that sat on the top of the pile. Memories rushed over me of playing with them when I was little. Two of them – the matching orange and green cars – had been lost when I left them on the beach one night. Still gritty, they were both safe and sound near the bottom of the box. Dad had accidentally stepped on and broke the red-and-blue semi and claimed that Ratchet wasn't able to repair it. Only now did I appreciate why he had burst out in laughter when he realized that _he'd_ stepped on the _truck_. It was in one piece, sitting next to the green car. The pink motorcycle I'd left in California one year when Mom and R.C. and I went to visit the ranch. It and the yellow sports car and the ambulance and the silver-and-blue truck and the matching Corvettes…they were all there. "I always wondered where these went."

"We gathered them up over the years," Arcee said gently. "Prowl felt that it was too much of a risk for you to keep them – you weren't supposed to know about us and these toys came dangerously close to revealing the truth. But we kept them, hoping to return them some day."

And Ironhide was on top because I'd kept him the longest. I still remembered the day I wanted the truck to haul a load of "hay" for my horses (I was on a _Black Stallion_ kick at the time) and couldn't find it. It was one of the few times I'd voluntarily cleaned my room, but I never did find it. "Mom had to steal Ironhide, didn't she."

"Yes," Arcee admitted. "You never even noticed when you 'lost' Prowl or Wheelie, but Ironhide hadn't been gone a week before you missed him."

I shook my head in disbelief, tipping Ironhide up to reveal the robot. "Now I feel _really _stupid."

Arcee lightly laughed. "I don't know why you should. You were only nine when we finally confiscated Ironhide."

I'd freaked out because they'd lied, but…"You were trying to tell me all along."

"No."

The firmness of her tone made me look up in surprise. "The twins and Ratchet were trying to make you happy. That's all. Mudflap and Skids were watching the actors' commentary on a movie and one of the actresses jokingly complained that her action figure made her look fat. They thought that they would be the coolest action figures ever and bribed Ratchet into helping them make transforming toys of themselves."

Wiping away the tears, I asked, "How in the world did the twins pull that off?"

"They promised Ratchet that as long as he was building the toys – and for an equal number of days afterward – he wouldn't have to repair them, that they wouldn't fight at all."

"Wow. How long did that last?"

"The twins were true to their word, and that's why Ratchet made cars of all of us. He figured it was a public service."

I chuckled and reached into the box to pull out Motorcycle Lady. She was near the top of the pile, too. Glancing up again, I smiled at Arcee. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, little one."

…

The third day, Mom sent me to school despite my protests. 'Hide should be waking up any minute – he was overdue. Something was undeniably _wrong _with him and they expected me to go to school?

I refused to go until Arcee finally transformed into her alt-mode, pulled out her holoform, and physically escorted me to her bike. "Ride with me or with Sideswipe, but we're taking you one way or another. Ironhide would be angry if you skipped out on your studies because of him." Deciding it was better (both less attention-grabbing and more pleasant) to ride with Arcee, I'd smashed the helmet on my head with poor grace and swung up behind her holoform, trying to ignore the fact that she'd said 'Ironhide _would_ be angry' instead of 'will.' Funny how little things like that made a world – a universe – of difference.

Just like with the last two days, I didn't learn a thing at school. Arcee picked me up again afterward and brought me back to the med bay. Seeing us, Mom stood up from her seat on Ironhide's front tire and stretched. "I'm beginning to feel like an actual mother hen," she joked, "brooding up here in an Autobot nest."

I rolled my eyes and groaned. "Good grief, Mom! How many puns can you cram into a single sentence?"

"I thought it was rather witty," Ratchet said behind me, and I did a double-take when I turned. Even in this setting and after spending several days here, I still associated that voice with the human-looking Ron Hatchett, not the twenty-foot-tall Autobot medic. This would take a while to get used to.

Climbing the platform up to the repair berth, I asked Ratchet, "How's he doing?"

He turned away from the other berth where he was working on Arcee's purple component to run a scan on Ironhide. "Neural processor activity is approximately 80% of normal. His spark stability isn't _quite_ where I'd like it to be, but as long as he doesn't see any action or excitement for a while, he should be fine. Diagnostics were still detecting some problem areas in the repair systems and motor functions, so I performed surgery again while you were at school." He stepped over to Ironhide and removed two disks that had been magnetically attached to 'Hide's head; they were neural processor dampeners, the Autobot equivalent of general anesthesia. "I was just waiting for you to arrive to see if he'll come around this time."

"I'm going to grab something from the break room quick," Mom said as she passed me on the stairs. "Do you want anything?"

"A package of those cheese and crackers would be nice."

She grinned. "You got it." Touching Ironhide's helm lightly as she passed, she said, "Feel better."

I shrugged into the modified parachute harness that was required when working near injured 'bots. It was similar to the one Johnston had been wearing that first time I came into the med bay. If Ratchet needed to snatch you out of the way in a hurry, he needed an easy handle. Quinn had developed it years ago after nearly being squished – first by a semi-conscious Prime and then in a hasty grab by Ratchet. All the repair crew wore one while working.

Finding a hand-hold on some of the armor on his side, I scrambled up onto Ironhide's chassis. "Come on, you lug," I said, resting my cheek on the warm steel above his spark. "What's the hold-up?"

No answer.

I sighed, idly tracing lines on the steel for several long minutes. "Tell me about him, Ratchet. Something you weren't allowed to tell me before."

"You _will _have a chance to ask him yourself," he pointed out. "It's taking longer than I anticipated, but his repair systems are slowly overcoming the damage."

"But I don't know hardly anything about him."

"That's a double-negative," he absentmindedly corrected me.

I huffed. "You know what I mean. I hardly know anything about him."

"What do you want to know?"

I thought for a second. "How did you meet him?"

He half-smiled. "The first time I met him was when he defected to the Autobots."

"He was a _Decepticon_?!"

"Almost."

Arcee and Chromia came in then and Arcee jumped right into repairing the purple component. I wondered briefly what it would be like to repair _yourself _like that.

"He was part of the Cybertron defense forces back before the war," Ratchet continued. "I may have helped repair him at some point – I honestly don't remember – but I didn't really get to know him until after the war broke out. Megatron declared a war of aggression against another species, but Optimus rose up in defiance against him, saying that it went against every principle of our civilization. Most of the science division sided with Optimus, while most of the planetary defense forces sided with Megatron. Ironhide was one of the few exceptions."

"He and I both were," Chromia put in.

Ratchet nodded in agreement. "Megatron declared Optimus' faction traitors and turned on his fellow Cybertronians. That was the beginning of the end for our entire species."

"Ironhide was the first to choose the Autobots," Chromia admitted. "He was convinced that Optimus and the others weren't guilty of the things Megatron accused them of, but I wasn't so sure. Megatron made some very convincing arguments. Ironhide left, but I stayed – with reservations. If Optimus _was _guilty, then I wasn't going to remain a neutral, but I didn't like some of the things Megatron was tolerating and encouraging among his ranks."

"At the same time," Arcee cut in, "Ironhide was known for being an efficient and enthusiastic warrior, and he knew that we would be distrustful. So he wandered for a while, eventually finding his way to Autobot territory and Optimus. I was part of the contingent that captured him."

Ratchet snorted. "Would you believe he pulled his cannons on Prime during their first interview? Nobody…" he elbowed Arcee, "thought to put stasis cuffs on him or to deactivate his weapons."

I tried to imagine it, Ironhide threatening Optimus like that. "You're kidding."

"Nope," Chromia sniggered. "It let him prove his point, though. They weren't fighters, and they would need mechs like him. Once Optimus was convinced of 'Hide's sincerity, he allowed Ironhide to contact me. I brought two other femmes with me – Firestar and Flareup."

"Decepticon ranks are not a safe place for femmes," Arcee explained. "They're considered too weak."

Chromia snorted. "Until we blow their afts off."

Arcee tipped her head in acknowledgement.

"Slagger," a rough, familiar voice mumbled.

I jumped to my feet and Ratchet literally dropped what he was doing to hurry to the berth. I protested when the medic picked me up by the harness, but he only moved me as far as the platform. "Ironhide?"

"Ne'er…was…a…'con. _Slagger_."

Chromia was at his side, her fingers lightly caressing his face. "You're too tough to be a 'con," she soothingly agreed. "Too strong."

I started toward him again, but the medic's hand blocked my way. "Ratchet," I whined.

"Spitlet?" 'Hide asked, the light in his optics flickering as he tried to bring them online.

"_Annabelle_ is right here," Ratchet said. "You've not been left without a Lennox at your side for the last three days."

He turned his head, looking for me. "Annabelle…"

I hopped over Ratchet's hand and climbed up Ironhide's shoulder to my place by his spark. Ratchet gave me a warning look but didn't stop me. Resting my cheek against the silver armor again, I said, "I'm so sorry, Ironhide. So sorry. I was stupid and mean and childish, and I'm so sorry. You were so excited to tell me and I ruined it for you. Tell me how to make it up to you? Please? Please forgive me?"

Slowly, he lifted the hand on the other side of his body and brought it to rest lightly over my shoulders. "Little one," he sighed. His thumb gently stroked my hair. "I frightened you, little one. It's my fault, not yours."

"I wasn't scared of you," I firmly declared. "Never. I was upset because you had lied to me, but I understand now why you had to. You were as honest with me as you could be. But I was never afraid that you'd hurt me."

Chuckling, he stroked my hair again. "My little one," he said, pride in his voice. "A Lennox through and through, with your mother's fearless fire." His hand rested a little more heavily on me then – holding me close to his spark.

Again I felt…small. Not like when I was in the Autobot barracks – that was intimidating and the enormous size of everything just put my short, fragile human life in perspective. Here, cradled by Ironhide, I felt almost like how I imagine an infant feels in her daddy's arms. Safe, cherished, warm. Of course, even when I _was _an infant, I was never as small as I was here in Ironhide's hand. "Forgive me?" I pleaded again.

"On one condition," he said softly.

"Anything."

"Never tell anyone else that you're not afraid of me. Bad for the reputation."

The femmes and Ratchet laughed with me at that one. "Deal." With a contented sigh, I said, "Missed you, 'Hide."

"Missed you, too, Spitlet," he softly answered.

"She goes by Annabelle, now," Arcee gently corrected.

I bit my lip, realizing that however Ironhide might interpret that, it was bound to be hurtful. I almost took it back and told them they could call me by my Autobot name. But it really _was _a humiliating nickname. They were a bunch of advanced sentient robots – they couldn't come up with something better for me?

"What's this?" Mom's voice demanded, and I could hear her shoes tapping on the cement floor as she crossed the med bay. "I keep watch for the last three days and you decide to wake up during one of the few times I leave?"

"I could go back into recharge," Ironhide threatened.

"Slagger," she cheerfully insulted him as she climbed the platform.

Ironhide let me go, and I climbed down from his chassis. As soon as I had the harness off, Mom handed me my food and climbed up onto his chest, but this time she stood defiantly on the tire with her arms crossed and looking down at him. "Who gave you permission to get wounded, anyway?"

"Won't happen again," he assured her. "What _did_ happen, anyway?"

All the happiness drained from Mom's expression. "Shockwave."

"Frag," he muttered.

"There's time enough for that later," Ratchet interrupted, gingerly picking unharnessed Mom up and setting her beside me. She and Dad were probably the only humans on the planet who could ignore Ratchet's safety procedures and get away with it. "The repair team could handle the pellets without injury, so they pulled them out. Annabelle helped in her own way, too. But that's all for later. You need rest."

Turning to Mom and me, the medic said, "You've seen him now. He's awake and will be fine. Now both of you – out. Visiting hours will resume at 1900 hours."

"Thanks, Ratchet," Mom said warmly as she led the way toward the med bay doors. "Feel better, Ironhide."

"Already do," he rumbled.

"Oh," I said, turning around to point at first Ironhide and then Ratchet. "You and you – there's a wash and wax with your name on it. We'd better see you both within a week."

Ironhide chuckled again. "Yes ma'am."


	9. Normal

Author's Note: Sorry about the delay in posting on this fic. I got sidetracked by the fic "Chat" (which is referenced in this chapter). Hope you enjoy!

* * *

The next day was Friday, and I was all but bursting with excitement when I was finally released from the clutches of public education. No school to interrupt – I could _live _in the Autobot hangar this weekend! Ironhide was still bedridden last night after dinner…well, he was strapped to the repair berth and swearing up a storm, but regardless, I hadn't even seen him sitting up yet. Ratchet sent all three of us Lennox's home for the night, telling Mom that Ironhide wasn't in the hospital so much as he was in time-out for trying to walk off earlier.

I was a little disappointed when Mom showed up in the minivan to pick me up, but I guessed it _was_ unreasonable to expect the Autobots to play chauffer for me all the time. "So have you heard if he's up and about yet?" I asked as I hopped in the front seat. "Ratchet's got to be sick of his cussing by now and I was hoping 'Hide could show me around a little bit more. Does he have an office?"

"That'll have to wait, Annabelle," Mom said, checking her blind-spot before merging onto the main road. "They're all in a meeting right now."

"Meeting? Autobots stuck in a _meeting_?! You've got to be kidding me."

She wearily smiled. "Afraid not."

"What's it about?" I asked.

"Classified."

I delicately snorted. "I thought I had clearance." Sudden hope swelled in my soul. "Are they choosing a new Autobot designation for me?"

Mom smirked. "Not everything's about you, Annabelle. I'm just guessing, mind you, but this is the first major powwow they've had since Ironhide's injury, since he got hurt with _Shockwave's _weapon."

And then I connected the dots, too. "This is about him. Who is he, anyway? Besides being a Decepticon, of course."

She pursed her lips for a moment before answering. "They haven't told me much, but I gather he's one of the few Decepticons who could give Megatron a run for his money. The 'cons have been on the defensive for roughly the last eight years, so Shockwave turning up now…it just doesn't bode well. Is he going to challenge Megatron or reinforce him?" She pensively shook her head. "Regardless, it's an all-hands-on-deck kind of thing. You dad will let us know when they finish, and 'Hide will probably come down to the house tonight."

"But I want to visit him on the base," I whined.

She gave me a look of strained patience. "Annabelle, it was special circumstances for us to sleep in the Autobot hangar. Things have to get back to normal now."

I rolled my eyes. "There is no such thing as _normal_ anymore, Mom. My dad's best friend is a monster alien robot warrior."

She half-smiled. "Yes. And that's been normal for me for the last fifteen years. Trust me, we can and will get back to something resembling normal. Like homework. And all of us sitting down together for dinner tonight, 'Hide included, with any luck."

I sighed heavily and stared out the passenger-side window. Grown-ups. What was their infatuation with normal?

...

That evening, Dad was the first one through the door and I ran to him like usual, catching him in a hug.

"How's my little lady?" he asked, squeezing me tightly.

"Happy to be on speaking terms," I giggled, realizing it had literally been weeks since we'd had a moment like this.

"Me, too," he said, kissing the top of my head. Then he let me go so he could plant a kiss on Mom. I'd tell them to get a room, but knowing them, they'd take me literally.

And then Hyde was there, standing awkwardly in front of the door leading to the garage. I could see his Topkick – his alt-form – parked behind him, and…. You know those pictures that just look like blurry patterns of color until you stare at them long enough and then suddenly you can see them as three-dimensional seascapes and stuff? Seeing Hyde there felt like that, but it was like _everything_ had new dimensions. And like those blurry pictures, I felt a little dizzy because of what I could now see.

It was like there was some kind of dual reality with dimensions and layers that hadn't existed before. Here was the man I loved like a grandfather, the man who indulged me and, frankly, spoiled me rotten. But here, also, was a being who was utterly, unimaginably alien, who was a walking weapon, who made my brief lifespan look like the blink of an eye. Which was the illusion? Which was the reality? The two seemed impossible to reconcile, and yet…and yet I could _feel _it bone-deep that Aaron Hyde and Ironhide were one and the same.

With a start, I realized that, just as he lived longer, he loved deeper than any human could ever hope to. That was the link between the two people standing as 'Hide before me. The walking weapon killed to protect me because he loved me like his own child. His own sparkling.

I'd always liked the sparkle in his blue eyes, but with the clearance I'd been given, I understood the light in them so much better now.

"Hello…Annabelle," he nervously rumbled as I stared, careful to not accidentally use my old name.

I threw myself into his arms, knocking the wind out of him with an "oof." "Welcome home, Hyde. Ironhide."

After a breathless chuckle, he held me even tighter than Dad did, resting his cheek on the top of my head. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_," I softly said, "for putting up with me."

"I could say the same," he answered, letting me go but holding my gaze with his own. "And it's good to be home."

Feeling all sappy, I gave him a little smile, and he returned it with a nod.

Looking at Mom, he said, "Smells good, Spitfire. You made enough for Will to have some too, right?"

She laughed and swatted at him with a kitchen towel. "Enough for you _and _Will _and_ the femmes when they get off duty. Go wash up; dinner will be ready in a few minutes."

And just like that, life resumed the rhythms and patterns I'd known for as long as I could remember, carrying us all on to what was now to become 'normal.'

Dinner conversation revolved around holoforms – what they could sense, what they couldn't, what happened to the food they ate…. You know, normal stuff.

It turns out that holoforms were about as accurate as alt-forms when it came to mimicking the real thing – with a few upgrades of course. The Autobots' awareness stayed connected to their processors, so they kept their communication and sensory abilities, but they had to focus to access them. This showed up as a blank, spaced-out expression that I'd noticed before but never really thought about. It also explained how they were such know-it-alls; they had constant Internet access. Couldn't be because they were so ancient I couldn't quite wrap my mind around it.

(Oh, and by the way, human food could be processed just like any other energy source, but it took a long time and wasn't really worth the effort as fuel. They just ate because Mom was a good cook and holoform tastebuds work as well as human ones.)

R.C. and Mia roared up the driveway on their alt-forms just in time for dessert. "Hey guys!" I called out when they let themselves in through the front door. "You up for cheesecake?"

R.C. came in and gently squeezed my shoulder. "Sounds great, Spit…fire…made it? Or did you, Annabelle?"

"Nice save," I grumbled, giving her a dirty look. "It's not like I'm gonna smack you if you slip up. It's just an annoying nickname – I'm not _angry _about it. And Mom made the cheesecake."

Hyde pushed the chair beside him away from the table, inviting Mia to sit there. Her fingers trailed lightly over his shoulder and then she sat down. That was the most demonstrative I'd ever seen them. "Cherries?" she hopefully asked.

Mom grinned as she rose to her feet. "Of course."

"Here, let me help," I offered, grabbing a stack of small plates from the cupboard. Mom dished out the pieces and I served, while Dad opened a can of cherry pie filling and scooped it into a bowl.

"So how was your day?" Mom asked them as she sat down again.

R.C. casually said, "Prime had to restrain Ratchet when he saw what Sunny and Sides did to Skids and Mudflap."

It was the sort of thing I'd heard pretty much daily my whole life, but the words brought to mind a very different scene now. "Oh dear."

"They had it coming," Hyde said as he spread cherries on his slice of cheesecake. "The younglings superglued the warriors' heads to their berths. Everyone who _wasn't _strapped to a berth in the med bay woke up to them flailing around and cussing."

I started sniggering at the mental images.

Mia rolled her eyes. "Sunny and Sides hacked their berths to bits trying to get free, and now they'll have to sleep in their alt-modes until 'Jack gets around to fixing them. And this cheesecake is heavenly, Spitfire."

Mom grinned. "Flattery will get you seconds."

Dad took both her hands in his and staring deeply into her eyes, declared, "My lovely, witty, beloved wife, Helen of Troy was a _hag_ compared to you."

She giggled. "Sorry guys. Will just took the cake."

We all groaned at the pun.

"I'll arm-wrestle you for it," Hyde offered.

"Not a chance," Dad said with a smirk.

"But what did Sunny and Sides do to the younger twins?" I interrupted.

"Oh, nothing much," R.C. answered. "Just hacked off their arms and legs and hid them randomly around the base."

"OH JEEZ!" I snorted. "That's _HORRIBLE_!"

"It was worse for the poor people who randomly stumbled across amputated limbs," Mia dryly answered.

"Had it coming," Hyde repeated.

Shaking her head, R.C. said, "They were still looking for one of Skid's arms when we left."

"Are they gonna be okay?"

"Oh yeah," she assured me. "They'll be sore for a few days and their energy levels got depleted enough that they'll need to spend the rest of the day recharging in the safety of the med bay, but they'll be up to their stupid twin tricks all too soon."

Dad added, "They'd be in the brig except that's where the other twins are right now."

"Just another _normal _day with Autobots?" I asked with a grin.

Dad sighed, his expression troubled for a brief moment. "I wish." Straining to lighten his own mood, he said, "But then, what's _normal _with these knuckleheads around?" His gaze went from the femmes to Hyde before he managed a smile for me. "As soon as I think I have them pegged, they sucker-punch me with something as insane as an amputated-limbs scavenger hunt."

"Oh the stories we could tell you, Annabelle," Mom said, grinning.

"_Will _tell you," R.C. promised with a smirk.

"Like what?" I eagerly asked.

"Like the scare Ironhide and Chromia gave Will when she first arrived on Earth," Mom said, already sniggering at the memory.

My first recollection of Mia was her coming to a football game. R.C. introduced the newcomer as her sister, and it was years before I figured out there was something between her and Hyde. "What happened?"

Through her giggles, Mom said, "They triggered every alarm on the base by slipping away for…an intimate _chat_ on the beach."

"Holy crap!" I choked on my own laugh. "You didn't!"

"Ten-thousand years apart makes a femme desperate," Mia said with a shrug.

Dad leaned back in his chair, grinning. "I put the fear of Primus in them if they ever did something like that again, at least if it was within sight of our house."

"Wait!" I exclaimed, incredulous. "You two were doing the horizontal tango on _my _beach? Where I innocently frolicked in the surf all while I was growing up?"

"You weren't frolicking at the time," Hyde said defensively.

"_We_ were," Mia murmured, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

I choked again on my laughter.

"They were _horrible_ for the first couple of years," Dad said, shaking his head at Mia. "We had to build a special facility for their…_chats_ so that they wouldn't keep lighting up the sensor nets."

"And so that your perverted government liaisons wouldn't try to play peeping tom," Mia snorted.

Chat. A light bulb switched on in my head and, looking at Hyde, I said, "So that's why you freaked when I was eleven and told you I was chatting online with 'Bee?"

R.C. almost fell out of her chair she was laughing so hard. "You…said…that…you were…?!" she wheezed.

"Yep," Hyde matter-of-factly said, taking a bite of cheesecake. I wasn't sure if he was answering me or R.C.

"…_Primus_!" R.C. gasped through her guffaws.

"So if you two were doing-it-on-the-beach serious, how come I've never seen you kissing or anything?" I asked Mia and Hyde.

Swallowing his cheesecake, Hyde answered, "Like your father said, he put the fear of Primus in us if we ever corrupted his daughter with our heathen ways."

"But…Mom and Dad kiss all the time in front of me. It's annoying sometimes."

"It's good for you," Mom said firmly, though she was still smiling.

"That's different," Hyde curtly answered me.

"Because they're married?" I wondered.

Hyde looked offended. "Marriage is a weak, fleeting echo of what Mia and I share. It's different because _they're_ human."

"So are you right now – kinda. I'm sure you must have kissed in your holoforms at least once." I wracked my brain trying to remember.

Mia chuckled. "Nope."

"Not once?"

R.C. smirked. "Nope."

"Not even under mistletoe?" I pressed.

"Terrible tradition," Hyde righteously answered.

"Not even a little peck on the lips?"

Hyde started to turn a little pink – blushing. "No."

"Why not?" I demanded.

"Because we're in our holoforms."

"So?"

Grimacing, he answered, "So…it'd be…kinky."

Even the femmes busted up laughing at that one.

"So let me get this straight," I chortled. "It's perfectly normal to traumatize my beach, but a chaste little peck on the lips is _kinky_?"

Hyde awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah."

Mia surprised Hyde with a sudden kiss on the cheek. "I'm so glad you're mine, Ironhide."

The scandalized look on his face was priceless.

…

The Autobots didn't leave until almost midnight. I quietly neglected to tell my mom I didn't get my homework done, planning on finishing it during English first period instead. No way was I going to miss out on a night like that for a few math problems. I was pulling a low A in the class – I could afford to miss a few points.

The next day after school, Ironhide and Ratchet showed up at the house for their promised "spa treatment," as Mom called it. I'd helped wash the truck countless times, but it was a completely new experience to talk with 'Hide and Ratchet via the radio instead of speaking to their holoforms. Just another weird way that reality changed for me. Mom and Dad took on Ironhide while I scrubbed Ratchet until he shined, and all the while, the two 'bots amiably bickered like an old married couple.

I'd need some help with the waxing, so while Mom and Dad buffed 'Hide, I got out the Black Magic and started wiping down Ratchet's leather seats. Abruptly, his engine revved and then spluttered. "Sweet Cybertron!"

I sat back on my heels in surprise. "What?"

"That…is extremely pleasant. I'd forgotten how good it feels."

Fifteen years of helping to wash the truck...things I'd never thought about before. I grinned as I sprayed some more of the cleaner on his seats. "I'm glad - you earned it!"


	10. Questions

Author's Note: FINALLY starting a new story arc with this chapter! (Annabelle took longer to apologize to the Autobots than I expected.) :) Hope you enjoy!

* * *

School was more boring than ever – I just couldn't focus on my studies, not with thoughts of awesome alien robots running around in my head. I found myself drawing sketches of the Autobots when I should have been writing essays or solving equations. I started to miss assignments, forgetting to write them down because I was too busy daydreaming. I mean, honestly, how could anyone expect me to focus on memorizing Spanish vocabulary when I'd visited the proving grounds the night before to watch Ironhide and Chromia training? How could plain old terran Biology be interesting when Skids and Mudflap spent hours showing me holos of life-forms from distant planets? How could I possibly care about what _human_ leaders were doing when I had Optimus Prime on my speed dial?

When parent-teacher conferences rolled around two months after my birthday, I knew I was toast. I hadn't told my folks about my plummeting grades, so they got the news from my teachers' mouths while I shrunk down deeper into the chair after each interview. By the time we left the building, my parents were giving _me_ the silent treatment. 'I may as well have Ironhide shoot me now,' I thought as I climbed into the back of Mom's minivan. (That was the one saving grace of the night – Ironhide and the rest of the Autobots didn't know. Yet. I didn't want to think about what their reactions would be.)

When we turned down the long driveway to home, I mumbled, "Say something?"

"Like what?" Dad demanded. "That we're disappointed in you?"

"That we're going to ground you from the Autobots?" Mom threatened. "Your grades started taking a nosedive exactly when Ironhide got hurt."

I miserably sunk down into the seat, unable to offer any real defense for my actions. When we pulled into the garage, I was half-tempted to just stay in the minivan and mope.

"Go to your room, Annabelle," Dad ordered. "Your mother and I have a few things we need to discuss."

"Yeah," I grumbled, sulking past them toward the stairs, "like my life sentence." I locked the bedroom door behind me and – after hemming and hawing for a moment – pulled out my phone. I probably wouldn't have the privilege of using it again for a while.

To Ironhide, I sent, //promise u luv me?//

//Of course.//

//im failing geo n bio//

//WHAT?!//

//yeah folks r mad//

//What happened? You're sharper than half us 'bots.//

I hesitated. Maybe I should just call him, but then Mom and Dad would hear me and think to take my phone away all the sooner. //cant focus not since my bday//

It was a couple of minutes before he answered. //We're distracting you.//

//not ur fault//

//It's not yours either. I'll talk to your folks.//

//thx hide ur the best//

//lol No, that'd be Optimus. You'll probably not like the solution we come to, though. Prowl will be an exacting tutor.//

I swore under my breath. //pit no//

//LOL Slag yes. You've got to pull those grades up, and I know your dad. He'll brig you in your room until you turn things around. You want to be able to see us still or not?//

Gritting my teeth, I grudgingly sent, //yes//

//Well, then, you'll have to see us on our terms. You think your teachers are demanding? None of THEM has ever been a drill sergeant like me.//

What had I gotten myself into?

"Annabelle!"

I sent off one last text. //tattler// Tossing my phone on my bed, I went to the top of the stairs. "Yeah?"

"Get down here." It was Dad's not-happy voice. The same tone of voice I imagined him using right before he blew the spark out of a Decepticon.

Trying to look appropriately penitent, I walked into the living room where Dad was waiting. Mom was in the kitchen talking on her phone – to an Autobot, I assumed.

"I don't like you going behind my back," Dad growled.

"I didn't, I promise," I answered, ducking my head a little. "I just told 'Hide I was in trouble and why."

He glowered at me so angrily I felt like my heart was breaking. In clipped, Colonel Lennox tones, he said, "I'm beginning to regret ever letting you get clearance."

Tears welled up in my eyes. "Please, Dad. Don't."

"I don't know you anymore, Annabelle. I can understand that learning the truth about them threw you for a loop. I understand you not liking your designation of Spitlet. But that's all Autobot stuff. I'm your _dad _and three months ago you would have come to me for help. Why in the name of all that's holy did I have to find out from your _teachers_ that you're struggling in school? It's like you don't trust me anymore."

Crossing to him in two steps, I threw my arms around his ribs. "Of course I trust you! I was just embarrassed and I didn't want to get in trouble."

He sighed, holding me tightly. "But if I don't know you're in trouble, how can I help you?"

He had a point. "Sorry," I mumbled.

"And now 'Hide has organized the universe's best fighting force into a tutor rotation for you. Ratchet for bio, Prowl for geometry, Arcee for Spanish…He's even roped Prime into helping you with world history. _Optimus Prime_ playing tutor for my daughter. I could have helped you with most of that, Annabelle. All you had to do was ask."

And he was right – one hundred percent right.

Softly, he said, "I just feel like I'm losing you."

"Never." I lifted my head and met his wounded gaze. "I'll call 'Hide right now. What subject do you want to tutor me in? Or I could tell him that I don't need any of them to…"

He chuckled ruefully. "I don't know any Spanish."

"Okay. I'll keep Arcee for that."

"And Ratchet will be able to tell you more about terran biology than any human scientist alive."

Now he was the one moping and it mildly irritated me. I was the teenager – I was the one who was supposed to have the monopoly on angsty. "Well, pick one, Dad. Or several."

"The 'bots can teach you better than I could," he admitted.

"But that's not the point. I slighted you and I'm trying to make it better. Let me? Please?"

He hugged me tightly again. "You have your mother's insight, you know that? She's brilliant that way. Fine. I'll teach you about world history and let Optimus Prime worry about other things."

"Thank you." And I just rested my head on his chest for a long minute, remembering again why I loved him so much. He loved me first – and last.

…

Would you believe that Skids and Mudflap ended up as my English tutors? My jaw hit the floor when they showed up with Mudflap holding the Oxford edition of _The Complete Works of Shakespeare_ in his hands.

"Wha?" Skids demanded reading my expression. "Ya don' think we's _stupid_, do ya?

"Um…" I hedged, trying to find a diplomatic way to handle this. "_Shakespeare?_"

And then in a perfect mimic of Johnston's accent, Skids quoted, "Lord, what fools these mortals be!" Reverting back to his normal speech, he added, "We's got Cybertronian processors for brains, squishy! We's can compute circles 'round ya!"

"Ya think it easy ta talk like dis?" Mudflap laughed. "Any 'bot can learn English. Dis an _artform._"

"Yeah," Skids agreed. "An' it drive Ratchet _nuts._"

…

The second week in November, I was called out of Spanish and brought to the principal's office, and so naturally I thought it was related to my grades. 'Hide was right that Prowl was a tough tutor, but he had nothing on Ratchet and bio. I got a hundred percent on my bio test the day before and I wondered if that's why I was being summoned to the principal now – because they thought I cheated.

But that wasn't it at all. There were two military police officers waiting for me. "What's going on?" I wondered.

"We'll need you to come with us, Miss Lennox," one of the MP's said.

I looked at the school secretary, but she just nodded. "They have the proper paperwork. I've excused you from your classes for the rest of the day."

Taking a deep breath, I looked from one burly, intimidating soldier to the other. "Okay, then. I guess I'm going with you."

As we rode in the unmarked car toward the base, a memory from a backyard football game not even a year ago came to mind. Skids and Mudflap were going on about how witty one of their story characters was under interrogation, and Hyde had overheard us.

"Don't listen to a word of that slag, Spitlet," he'd said, interrupting them. "If you're ever captured by the enemy, use your head not your mouth. Don't say anything you don't have to, and pay close attention. They'll never directly ask the question they want answered – they'll lead you to it by a noose of almost-innocent questions. If you're gonna say anything, address it to the real question, not the noose."

Whatever was going on, they weren't hauling me to base under armed escort because of bad grades. This had something to do with the Autobots or Dad. Maybe both. And whatever was going down wasn't friendly toward the people I loved. I was just a pawn then, stuck in the middle like before, too old to stay out of the thick of things anymore but too young to do any good. Suddenly remembering how I'd helped with Shockwave's pellets, I fought my sly smirk as I glanced at the soldier beside me. _That's what you think._

We entered an office building and the MP's escorted down a corridor to our left. Dad burst into the other end of the hallway, bearing down on my escort. "What the _hell _is going on here?"

"I just had a few questions for Miss Lennox," a plain-clothes man said, emerging from the door the guard had just opened.

"Mr. Marshall. What is this about?"

That would make him Senatorial Liaison Joe Marshall, and I instantly hated him. 'Liaison' was a dirty word in the world I grew up in.

Marshall quipped back, "Your reports the first three weeks after she received security clearance, that's what this is about. They are…inconsistent, and we want answers."

Dad's eyes hardened as he stared down the shorter man. (Of course, _most_ men were shorter than him.) "She is my daughter and a minor. You have no _right_…"

Marshall extended a piece of paper to my dad. "I have every right under the compromise we negotiated fourteen years ago. She's old enough for clearance, which makes her old enough for questioning."

Dad frowned, and I thought hard. _Of course_ he would have had to file reports about me. And I was a brat for those two and a half weeks…was the man digging for dirt on the Autobots? Or maybe he was trying to get Dad discredited – his own daughter reacting badly to the aliens?

"You're not questioning her alone," Dad said flatly.

"I'll have them as witnesses," Marshall answered, tipping his chin at the men on either side of me. Yeah, because armed guards were _obviously_ neutral witnesses.

"You're treating her like a criminal."

"We're doing this for her own protection," Marshall snapped back.

"Could another woman be in there?" I asked quietly.

Marshall looked at me sharply and then his expression melted to kind indulgence. "If that will make you feel safer, Miss Lennox, of course."

"And it'll be videotaped, right?" I asked, a sudden idea occurring to me. After all, no one could hack like an Autobot, and Jolt was wicked-good even for them. If _anything _in that room was linked to the servers, they'd know.

"Of course, Miss. You have nothing to fear. We just want you to ask you a few questions."

Translation: we're twisting a noose.

I took a deep, steadying breath. "Okay, then." It wasn't really like I had much of a choice, anyway. I unslung my backpack and pulled out my cell phone. "I probably should leave this here, though, huh."

Dad nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, that would be a good idea."

With the speed only attainable by teenagers, I shot off a quick text to Ironhide. //c ths// Handing the phone to my dad and putting my backpack on again, I smiled bravely and then walked into the lion's den. I heard the phone chime, announcing a reply, as the door closed behind me.


	11. Firebrand

After they locked the door behind us, Mr. Marshall gestured to a chair and had one of the MP's call for a woman to assist them.

"Do you mind if we get started while we wait?"

"Sure, I guess," I hesitantly answered. "We can start."

There were the basic information questions – my name, age, date of birth. A woman I didn't recognize joined us as he was getting to the more pointed questions – verifying what date Ironhide first revealed himself to me, asking if they'd ever given any indication before about what they were, and then the open-ended, "So tell us what happened that day."

The smart-aft answer or the terse one? Deciding I'd better follow Ironhide's advice for now, I said, "We went to the backyard and Ironhide transformed."

"Just like that?"

"Pretty much."

"And how did you react?"

"Badly." I grimaced at having to acknowledge the truth.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Marshall said gently, misinterpreting my expression and scooting a box of tissues my way. "Don't worry about what the others will think or do. You're safe here with us."

Buying myself a second to think, I accepted the box and reached for a tissue. I was safe with these guys? Implying that I wasn't safe when I was away from them? That I wasn't safe with the Autobots? I pretended to blow my nose. Definitely digging for dirt on somebody. It was probably best to play along. "Thanks."

"I'm sure it's difficult to relive such traumatic experiences, but your honesty will help everyone."

'Yeah right,' I sarcastically thought. But I nodded my head. "Okay."

"So when you say badly…?"

Where exactly was he going? And how could I outmaneuver him? Looking down at the tissue as I twisted it in my hands, I repeated, "Badly."

"Yes, but can you elaborate?"

"I screamed like a girl. It was _humiliating_." And _that's _how I could divert him, I suddenly realized. Make it all about me. I fought back the evil grin, with only a flicker of a smile slipping though.

"Because you were scared?"

"No, it was humiliating that I screamed."

"But _why _did you scream?"

"Because I was surprised. It's not like I was _expecting_ my dad's truck to be a sentient robot."

Marshall looked down at the report in front of him, reading, "Miss Lennox appears to be deeply frightened of the Autobots." Looking back up, he asked, "Are you saying this report is inaccurate?"

"Hello. He's my dad and I'm a teenage girl. Of course it's inaccurate! When it comes to me, he's really clueless sometimes. I mean, like you wouldn't believe. He didn't want me to get earrings – ever – and when I turned twelve, we had this huge argument and…"

"Thank you, Miss Lennox," he interrupted. "I believe I'm getting a clearer picture now." He took a deep breath. "Backing up a little. You say the Autobot Ironhide gave you a cell phone for your birthday. What can you tell me about the phone?"

Boys bragged about features; girls just used their electronics. This man must have zero experience with teenage girls. I critically looked over his sagging physique and coffee-stained teeth – even when _he _was a teenager, he probably didn't have any experience with teenage girls. "Yeah, it's a _sweet _phone!" I gushed. "I can talk for a full day – and I mean a _full_ day non-stop talking and websurfing – without needing to charge it. And great reception. Mom and I went on a daytrip to Mumbai and even on the plane I could _still_ get reception!"

"But what about the phone itself?" Marshall persisted. "What features does the phone itself have?"

Like I'd just blurt out that it was Autobot-enabled. "Qwerty, video calling, satellite internet, and the pictures and video are as crisp as a real camera. And it'll survive anything. And I mean _anything_. I even dropped it in the ocean at one point, but it still works like a charm."

"So what upgrades and enhancements have the Autobots done on it?"

"None that I've seen. But I'm not a techie _at all._ Jolt had to set everything up for me when Ironhide got me a laptop and wireless office last Christmas. I can _use _the stuff okay, but when you start taking off the panels and mucking about with the hardware, that's all _way _above my head."

"They gave you a laptop?" he asked, and a weaselly light glinted in his eyes.

Slag. I saw the question behind that noose coming a mile off – he wanted my Autobot-enhanced laptop for himself. But practically everything I owned was Autobot-enhanced or at least Autobot-purchased. Every stitch of clothing I had on right then came from Arcee…That gave me an idea.

I walked right into the noose just for kicks. "And the wireless office, don't forget. Printer, monitor, keyboard, mouse. It's great!"

"Would you mind if I examined the laptop?"

"Actually, I kind of do. It _was_ a Christmas present, after all. I mean, he gave me one of those new Wii's the year before. You're welcome to come over and play it – I kick even Chromia's aft on virtual boxing – but if you want to take everything of mine the Autobots have ever touched, I won't have anything left."

"I don't care about the Wii," he hissed.

I pouted, enjoying the fact that I was getting to him. "Well I do! It's passé now, but he had to pull a lot of strings to get it to me that year and in time for Christmas. It was very nice of him. And they've all given me stuff. I mean, Arcee gave me the bra and panties I'm wearing right now. Do you need to see those, too?"

He kind of choked, and I looked down, hiding the smirk. No wonder Mr. Witwicky wanted to make a living playing politics. It was fun!

"That will be unnecessary, Miss Lennox," he finally said. "Just the laptop."

"Frankly, sir, I'd find confiscating my bra to be less intrusive. And less inconvenient, too. My class notes are on that laptop, and all my music and pictures and…"

"I'm not confiscating anything," he answered, trying to sound pleasantly patient – and failing. "I just wanted to see it. I'm sure it's top-of-the-line. Nice webcam?"

There was an edge to his voice this time; he'd set his sights on the laptop and I knew I wasn't going to be able to distract him away from it. Not if the bra and panties thing didn't do the trick. I could feel the weight of it in my backpack resting against my leg, and I suddenly wished I'd left _it _with my dad, too. I'd be a lot more confident with it safely out of Marshall's reach because, if Wheeljack hadn't upgraded it, I was a Decepticon. "Yep," I answered, switching back to Ironhide's tactics of one-word answers.

"Anything else special about it?"

"Great speakers."

"Why don't you pull it out and let me hear? What's your favorite music?"

"Battery's dead," I improvised.

Marshall gave me a stern look and then glanced at one of the MP's. "Get it."

The man moved toward me, and I felt a flash of terror…until I remembered Ironhide was watching. He'd bust through the door if they tried anything. Kinda made a girl feel bold, knowing that. To the MP, I said, "You know who my father and best friends are. Do you_ really _want to risk roughing me up?"

The man hesitated and looked uncertainly back at Marshall.

"Any other questions, or am I free to go?" I prompted him. Round one goes to Annabelle Lennox!

"Going back to 'reacting badly,'" he said, and I could feel the shift in his strategy. No more Mr. Nice Guy. Too bad for him that _Mudflap_ could be more intimidating. "You didn't speak to the Autobots for two and a half weeks, and then suddenly you're best buddies."

"We made up," I cautiously said, trying to figure out where he was going with this.

"Ah yes. The day they brought you to the hangar. Tell me about that day."

"It was a day right from the Pit," I said, echoing my dad's words.

"Explain."

"Well 'the Pit' is the Autobot equivalent of hell…"

"_Why_ was it a day from hell?"

"Ironhide almost died."

"And you suddenly saw the light after they hauled you into that so-called medic's repair shop?"

Where in the world was he going with this? I blinked a couple of times, completely baffled. "What do you _think _happened?"

"None of your attitude. Just answer it."

"No attitude," I said slowly. "I'm genuinely confused."

"I'm the one asking the questions, young lady."

_Now_ who was copping an attitude? "Yeah, I know. And I've answered them all. It's your turn. What do _you_ think happened?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. All I want is the honest truth from you."

I sat back, studying him. Ratchet, he was the key. The man was particularly hostile toward Ratchet. Why? Maybe I could make him show me where he was going. Besides, all I was telling was the truth. "I saw Ratchet working on Ironhide and I realized that I still cared about him."

"Cared about him?" he pounced.

Sweet Cybertron, the man wasn't thinking _that_,was he! "He's my adopted grandpa, of course I care about him."

That caught Marshall flat-footed. "Adopted…grandpa?"

"Well, not officially, but yeah, that's how I think of him. Aaron Hyde's been there for me for as long as I can remember. It's not like I can have extended family here on Diego Garcia, so the Autobots have kind of taken over that role. When I didn't talk to them for two and a half weeks, it was just a family spat. Of course I came around. Even when you're angry with them, you still gotta love family."

Understanding lit his eyes. "Aaron Hyde was there for you, but what about Ironhide? Didn't you feel a little…betrayed?"

The little fragger – he was trying to turn me against them. "Of course I felt betrayed, until I was around them enough to realize Hyde was the same no matter what shape he's in. People are people. Like you. You could turn into a toad and nobody would have any trouble knowing it was you. Besides, it was slimy government liaisons that forced them to lie to me in the first place."

He narrowed his eyes at me, his frown bordering on a sneer. "Aren't you a little firebrand."

"I'm the daughter of Will and Sarah Lennox and I was raised by fembots and Ironhide. What the slag did you expect?"

"A little more respect," he said shortly, "what with you being a military _brat_."

"Whoa. Knife to the heart with that one," I smirked. Round two goes to Annabelle with bonus points for reducing him to name calling! "Any other questions, or can I go now?"

"What happened in the med bay," he flatly demanded.

"Like I would know," I shot back. "I'm failing biology and I didn't take Auto Shop."

"What happened to _you _in the med bay?"

"I saw Arcee, climbed a platform to look at Ironhide and then got kicked out. Then my daddy took me to the cafeteria and bought me some apple juice."

"Tell me about getting kicked out. Why?"

"Why should I tell you?" I asked, intentionally misconstruing the question. "I'm not sure."

"Why did you get kicked out?"

"Because Ratchet didn't want me there."

"Why didn't Ratchet want you there?"

And again my dad's words echoed in my mind. "Because he loves me."

"He loves you?" A greedy, triumphant smile spread across his face.

Oh, I was _so _going to yank his chain over that one. "Yeah, we're betrothed and you're going to be the main course along with Han Solo for the engagement party – what do you think? Did you miss the memo? I'm the Autobots' collective kid sister."

"Of course." He was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. "So…being their medic, I understand he's treated you frequently over the years."

"Sure."

"And did any of that treatment involve anything…unconventional?"

Unconventional? Is that what he was driving at? "I think you're confusing the Autobots and the Borg. I'm one-hundred-percent organic and Ratchet himself would slag anybody who wanted to make me otherwise."

"I meant something…intimate."

My hands clenched into fists and I reined in my temper. Snarky, I reminded myself. Snarky teenage brat – that's who I needed to be. "When's the last time _your _car touched you intimately?" I said sarcastically. And then I couldn't help adding, "Or maybe you're the one doing the touching?"

"Oh. Defensive."

"No, I'm incredulous. For the record, I have never been treated with anything other than respect and kindness by the Autobots." _Except Skids and Mudflap, but that's different,_ I added to myself with mentally-crossed fingers. "I wish the same could be said of you governmental jerks."

He clasped his hand to his chest and mockingly exclaimed, "I'm wounded!"

"No," I answered, a Lennox edge to_ my _voice. "Wounded is what you'll be if you don't either let me go or ask some questions worth answering. I've seen Ironhide on the proving grounds, and if you had seen him, too, you wouldn't be keeping me here against your best interest."

"Tough talk," he sneered.

I cockily tipped my head in a "bring it" attitude. "Tough walk, too." Arcee and Chromia may have been training me on a lark, but I knew enough dirty tricks to make short work of _him_ if it came to that. The guys with the guns were another story, though. I'd just have to trust my 'bots to take care of them. "You gonna ask something reasonable or am I free to go?"

He sat back, appraising me. "Where did you go after you left the med bay?"

"I told you. We got a snack in the break room or whatever it is."

"And then where did you go?"

Wheeljack's lab. I hesitated, nervous again. _Answer the question, not the noose, _Ironhide's words echoed softly in my mind.

"If you want to know, ask my dad. He was there. I don't know that part of the base at all." Which wasn't true. I'd lived here for days on end when 'Hide was still in stasis. But I'd only seen the lab and the area with the offices once.

He leaned forward on his elbows. "Your father has already reported that you went to Wheeljack's lab. Tell me about it," he pleasantly invited.

"No," I flatly answered.

"Why not?"

"Because I was given to understand it's classified. You want to know about it, ask someone with clearance to answer."

"Surely you can tell me about the observation lounge."

"Surely you know what classified means," I shot back, rising to my feet. "And you know what? I'm done. Either let me go or do something official to keep me here."

"Sit down," he snarled, looking meaningfully at one of the guards. "Or I'll make you."

I slowly sank to my seat again, a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. The Autobots weren't watching. They would have blown through that locked door just now if they had been. I was on my own.

"That's better," he almost purred, no doubt seeing the dismay in my eyes. "Now. About Wheeljack's lab…describe the observation lounge for me."

I resisted the urge to nervously bite my lip. "No."

"I'm not going to ask again."

"Good," I snarked back, "because I'm tired of repeating myself all the time."

"Just the exterior. I've seen it myself and the doors intrigued me…"

I'd wager Ironhide's cannons that he hadn't. And if I was going down, I may as well do it with flare. I lifted my hand, palm out, and looked away. Talk to the hand.

"If you want to play it that way…" He pulled out an official-looking piece of paper and pushed it across the table toward me. "You are hereby served with a subpoena of deposition – "

He paused mid-sentence, staring at something past my shoulder. Turning I saw R.C. and Hyde standing on either side of the door. Hyde menacingly crossed his arms, while R.C. coolly said, "As per section twelve, sub-section E, part 2a of the NEST Spouses and Dependants Code, all court proceedings regarding minor dependants such as Annabelle Lennox – military and civilian, criminal and administrative – must be in accordance with the appropriate jurisdiction's legal code. You have violated applicable restrictions regarding minors, _and_ you have just violated Miranda requirements."

"Come with us, Annabelle," Hyde said, opening the locked door and holding it for me.

It was evil. It was immature. It was probably not the Autobot way. But I gave Marshall a gloating smirk as I stood and shouldered my backpack. Without a word, I turned and sauntered out the door. From the corner of my eye, I saw R.C. reach forward and snatch up the official paper like it was a gauntlet before following me out.


	12. Designation

Author's Note: There are two must-reads for this chapter. The first is _Introductions: Raquel Gutierrez-Ramon_ (which has been up for a while), and the second is _Reunion_, its sequel which begins going up today.

Also, Radio Flyer (the femme RaFly) is from Darthishtar's _Undercover _(also listed on this profile).

Enjoy!

* * *

R.C. handed the official-looking paper to Hyde. "Raquel?"

Barely glancing at it, he nodded and gave her a cocky little smile. "Raquel."

"Who's she?" I asked.

Hyde chuckled softly. "She's my number-one fangirl."

"After Chromia," R.C. reminded him with a smirk. To me, she said, "She was a lawyer in Mission City, and Ironhide saved her life the day the All Spark was destroyed. She's been on Autobots' payroll, courtesy of Samuel, for almost ten years now."

"Fangirl?" I incredulously repeated.

"Uh-huh," Hyde answered, grinning. "She's great."

"And she'll be able to tell us more quickly and probably more accurately than the normal NEST lawyers if this," R.C. gestured at the paper in Hyde's hand, "is going to be garbage or a headache."

"Probably both," Hyde grumbled. Glancing at me, he said, "You humans and your legal system."

"Hey, don't blame me!" I said, throwing up my hands defensively. "I just live here!"

R.C. chuckled as she opened a door that led to a parking lot. A Topkick and a trio of motorcycles (two of which had riders lounging idly against them) were parked near the back of the lot.

"You brought the whole trio?" I asked her incredulously.

"Didn't know how much firepower we'd need," she said with a wink.

More seriously, Hyde asked, "Are you okay?"

I shrugged. "Sure. They never even laid a hand on me."

"Good," Hyde rumbled. "The slaggers were smart and didn't have anything connected to the servers. We were reduced to just standing in the hallway like this," he gestured to his holoform, "and listening."

Opening the passenger side door of his alt-form for me, Hyde helped me into the cab and then walked back around to sit behind the wheel. Putting the Topkick in gear, he said, "Impressive performance, though. R.C. just about keeled over when you cracked that line about the bra."

I sniggered, remembering. "It was fun to get his goat like that. Didn't work as well as I'd hoped, though."

He shrugged. "Still. You did good in there, Annabelle. You made us proud."

My cheeks burned in embarrassment at his praise. "Thanks. I remembered what you'd said about being interrogated by the enemy. It helped."

"I'm glad it was just a liaison and not a _real _enemy, then." His eyes seemed to blaze with fury at the mere thought of me in Decepticon hands.

"Me, too," I answered in a small voice.

…

In the main hangar, Ironhide transformed and led me and Arcee into the Autobot side. The door to their barracks opened automatically for him, and the sight that greeted me was the exact opposite of the last time I'd been here. The lights were up, making the whole, enormous room bright, and there was a pleasant babble of voices. It looked like every Autobot on the island was here. Dad ran over to us and caught me up in a hug, swinging me around. Setting me on my feet, he beamed proudly at me. "Good job, Annabelle."

I blushed. "Thanks."

"Yes," Optimus rumbled. "Well done."

I ducked my head a little at the praise, awestruck as usual by the Autobot leader's imposing presence.

"The liaison's going to try again," Jolt announced, his head cocked the side as though listening, and I realized he must have tapped Marshall's phone. Nosy, gossipy Autobots.

"Like hell," Dad growled.

"Let me handle this," Ironhide said to him. "Raquel."

Dad's sly grin echoed Hyde's smile earlier. "Do it. Send her after him."

I needed to meet this woman.

"In the meantime," Ratchet said, "Annabelle should return to school."

"OH! I got a hundred percent on my bio test," I told him.

"That's more like it," he nodded in approval. "You're in rare form today, femme."

"Thanks." My heart glowed with happiness – that was the first time any of them had called me a femme since the day Ironhide got hurt.

…

Freedom! It was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving – the beginning of the holiday vacation – and I practically skipped out of the school at the end of the day. We had plans for a huge Thanksgiving dinner at our house, complete with an Autobot football game. I felt lighter than air.

When I got outside, though, I saw an unmistakable yellow Camaro waiting in the pick-up zone. A couple stood leaning against the car – Sam and Mikaela Witwicky! I hadn't seen them in a year and a half, what with them living in D.C. for his ambassadorial work. Grinning, I ran to them, throwing my arms around them both. "Hey you guys!"

Mrs. Witwicky chuckled, holding me tight. "Hey yourself."

"No one told me you were coming," I scolded, stepping back and smiling like an idiot. "Where are your kids?"

"At the base daycare," she said.

"We wanted it to be a surprise," Mr. Witwicky explained, turning to open the door for me.

I hesitated for a split second before climbing into the back seat. Another Autobot, but which one? The person I'd known as 'Bee was Mr. Witwicky's best friend. His name was always included with the Witwicky's Christmas presents and he IMed me pretty regularly, but I barely knew Wheelie. The 'bot peeled out, leaving the school behind us. "Wheelie or Bumblebee?" I asked once we were on our way.

Mr. Witwicky chuckled, and a toy truck on the seat beside me suddenly transformed, making me yelp. "Whaddya think, squishy?" the little Autobot grumbled, sullenly crossing his arms. "That _I _would be yellow? For someone who's _supposed_ to be smart, you ain't too bright."

"Oh." I blushed. "Hi, Wheelie." In a louder voice, I added, "Hi, Bumblebee."

The engine made the frame rumble in a familiar Autobot laugh. The voice from the radio was not what I expected, sounding like an adult talking to a toddler. "Well, hi there."

"He lost his voice in battle," Mr. Witwicky explained for the mech. "He talks through quotes."

"…or text us," a female voice-over said from the radio.

"Or he can text you," Mr. Witwicky continued with a grin.

"OH! I forgot to turn my phone on." Pulling it out of my backpack, I powered it up. "There. Sorry about that, 'Bee."

My phone chimed, announcing a text. //np//

I grinned. Most of the 'bots didn't use netspeak, but I'd always thought 'Bee was younger at heart than the others – with the obvious exception of Skids and Mudflap. Bumblebee careened around corners and zipped across the island, reminding me of Sideswipe but less scary. Fun, I thought with a grin. That was 'Bee in a word – fun!

He slowed only marginally as we entered the Autobot hangar, instead taking us directly to the barracks. Hmm, that was odd. Everyone was already assembled, sitting on the edge of the circle cut into the floor. Optimus sat facing the door with several spaces to his right. Then there was a group of Autobots I didn't recognize. An off-white 'bot with the armor of a femme but a bit boxier than I was used to in a female Autobot sat beside a dusty-green mech with a shoulder-launcher like Wheeljack. Beside him was a black mech even bigger than Ironhide but with silver features under the armor. Then there was a royal-blue mech who reminded me oddly of Bumblebee except he was taller and a little leaner through the body but with broader shoulders. And lastly there was an orange-and-white mech with helicopter rotors who was around the same height as Ratchet. Beside them were Arcee, Ironhide, Chromia, Mom and Dad (who sat exactly opposite Optimus), Skids and Mudflap, Jolt, Wheeljack, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, Ratchet, and Prowl (who sat at Prime's left). The lights were dim like they had been that first time when I came to thank Ratchet, and the whole thing had a formal air.

With every optic and eye on us, I nervously got out of Bumblebee's cab.

Optimus stood as Bumblebee transformed behind me. "Welcome. Come take your places."

The Witwicky's began skirting the ring of Autobots, but Dad gestured for me to join them. I hurried over, watching Bumblebee curiously. Doorwings. The only other Autobots I knew with doorwings were Prowl and Mudflap, and with both of them, the tilt and motion of the wings were like unique windows into what they were feeling. I wasn't sure how to interpret the angle and movement of 'Bee's wings. Would they be here long enough for me to learn how to read him?

Mr. Witwicky sat down beside Optimus, with Mrs. Witwicky, Wheelie, and Bumblebee filling the rest of the gap. Turning to the human beside him, Prime said, "The floor is yours."

Mr. Witwicky nodded and hopped off the ledge into the circle. "Come here please, Spitlet."

I pursed my lips, wondering if he was using the name to annoy me or if he'd just missed the memo. Taking a deep breath, I hopped down and crossed the wide, brightly-painted floor to him. The Autobots had never been this imposing – not even when I first touched Ratchet.

When I was a couple of steps away from him, he solemnly said, "You have learned the truth about Ironhide and the others, but there is another truth you must know before we can call you an Autobot. Prowl?"

The enforcer stood and placed an ornate metal box at Mr. Witwicky's feet. Using senses I couldn't perceive, Prowl unlocked the clasp and lifted the lid. Inside was a…I wasn't sure what it was or even how to describe it. It was a metal thing, elongated and pointed on either end. The exterior was a silvery web of some kind, and inside it something was glimmering with a pale blue light.

"The Matrix of Leadership," Mr. Witwicky said. "You know that Optimus is the leader of the Autobots, but do you know the significance of the name of Prime?"

I shook my head 'no' uncertainly.

"The Primes were the first of our race, a dynasty of leaders," Optimus explained. Gesturing toward us, he said, "The Matrix of Leadership belongs to the Primes and will only activate for them. Do you understand?"

"I think so," I softly answered.

Mr. Witwicky smiled a little and then picked up the Matrix. It flared into a vivid, brilliant blue, the light glowing violet between his fingers and filling the darkened room to flicker on the walls. It was _beautiful_. In the back of my mind, I noticed a low murmur from the new Autobots. When my gaze finally met Mr. Witwicky's again, he asked, "Do you still understand?"

It was the Primes' Matrix…it activated for him…he was a _Prime_? _A __**human**__ Prime_? My jaw dropped and it was a long moment before I could stammer, "I think so."

He nodded, satisfied, and placed the Matrix back in its box. "Then you understand that the name you receive today is not a whim or an indulgence. It is a mark of honor and responsibility as a sentient who has aligned herself with the Autobots."

I swallowed hard and nodded again.

"We have thought for a long time about what designation to offer you, but in the end, it was the grudging respect of your adversary that was most appropriate. I am Samuel Prime, and I give you the designation Firebrand. As your human name honors your father, your Autobot name continues to honor your mother. Is this acceptable?"

Firebrand – it was worlds better than Spitlet. "Yes," I solemnly answered.

"Good. Then report to Ratchet within the next twenty-four hours to receive your Autobot insignia. Tomorrow morning, we'll give you a full briefing, explain your duties, and begin your training. Until then, I commend you to the care of Iron Will and Spitfire."

"Thank you," I murmured, bobbing my head in a slight bow before turning and quickly walking back to my parents. Duties? I hadn't anticipated _duties._ They were _serious _about this. But then again, so I was I, and I felt a growing excitement at the thought of really, truly, officially being an Autobot. That was just so _cool_! By the time I sat down beside my folks, I was grinning like an idiot.

Mr. Witwicky returned to his place beside Optimus. "I yield the floor."

Optimus rose to his feet again. "You all know that Ironhide was injured by a new weapon. It was our best guess that Shockwave was the one who developed it. Our guess has now been confirmed. Trailbreaker?"

The large, black Autobot rose to his feet. Tilting his head to acknowledge both Optimus and Mr. Witwicky, he said, "Initially under the command of Hot Rod, Hound, Mirage, Evac, and I have followed Shockwave here. It was our mission to offline the mech if possible, and if not, to disrupt his operations." He paused and looked directly at Ironhide. "I'm sorry we failed you."

"If you can apologize to my face, then you didn't fail," Ironhide gruffly answered.

Trailbreaker bobbed his head, acknowledging 'Hide's forgiveness. "We lost first Springer and then Hot Rod in battle since leaving Cybertron, but we have been able to destroy a number of Decepticon development and munitions facilities." Looking back at Optimus, Trailbreaker said, "With the loss of Hot Rod and his second, I have led us as best I could, but I place the leadership of our squad at your feet, Prime. As always, our allegiance is to you. To you both."

Mr. Witwicky smiled when Trailbreaker included him and then glanced up at Optimus. The Autobot leader's optics grew distant for a moment and then he stirred, lifting his head slightly. "We commend you and your squad for your efforts and sacrifice. By continuing their mission, you have honored your fallen comrades. I will not disband your team nor revoke the commission I gave to Hot Rod and Springer. After consulting with my brother, we have decided that you will continue their work. With the arrival of Shockwave and the escalation of hostilities we believe he will bring, we have decided that Bumblebee should have reinforcements to protect the human Prime. Your team will be well suited to an urban unit in Washington D.C. RadioFlyer," Optimus gestured toward the off-white femme, "has been our informal homeland security agent. For years she has been engaging in espionage and recon around the globe. She, too, will be joining your team under Bumblebee's command, bringing your unit to six members again."

Trailbreaker bowed his head before sitting down. "Yes, Prime. Thank you."

Optimus resumed his seat, and Mr. Witwicky hopped down into the circle again. Addressing the new Autobots, he said, "My human faction – my nation – celebrates a day of gratitude and thanksgiving soon. We are all of us grateful for the arrival of four new friends and companions-in-arms. Spitfire and her mate Iron Will have extended an invitation to us to celebrate both the holiday and your arrival with their family. Attendance is not required, but I would urge you to come and acclimatize yourself to human company. We will depart for D.C. in five days. In the meantime, you have your assignments." Turning, he sat down again and began speaking with Mrs. Witwicky, and the Autobots took that to be a dismissal.

Most of them went to speak with the newcomers, though Prowl, Optimus, Mr. Witwicky, and Bumblebee left together, and Dad ducked out to join them. Looking a little lost, Mrs. Witwicky eventually wandered over to us, Wheelie in tow. "Hey Spitfire, Firebrand."

I grinned to hear her address me by my new name. "Thanks. But what do we call you? I mean, Mr. Witwicky is…"

"Samuel, if you want to be formal," Mrs. Witwicky answered. "Human friends still call him Sam, but of the Autobots, only Bumblebee and Optimus call him that."

"She's the Warrior Goddess," Wheelie spoke up, looking almost adoringly at Mrs. Witwicky. "I gave her the name," he added proudly.

She blushed a little and affectionately nudged the little 'bot with her foot. "He's the only one who calls me that. I go by simply Warrior most of the time."

"Yeah, and I've named the kids, too," the little mech said. "Rugrat and Anklebiter."

Mom shook her head at Wheelie. "Daemon and Beatrice would _love _that."

I sniggered. "Even those are better than Spitlet! At least they sound wanna-be tough. My old Autobot nickname was a reference to the fact that I drooled as a baby."


	13. Training

"A tattoo?" I warily asked. I was in the med bay, it was 0700 hours, and I was reporting with my dad to Ratchet for my Autobot insignia. I had thought it would be a bracelet or something.

"It won't hurt," he assured me, "and the ink is laced with a compound that will practically shine on Cybertronian sensors. Even on a passive scan and with your insignia hidden under clothing, any Autobot would recognize you as part of their faction. Both Trailbreaker and Optimus have indicated that more Autobots will be arriving in the relatively near future, so having you properly identified could be very important."

"Spitfire has hers on her ankle," Arcee pointed out.

"And Dad has his on his bicep," I answered, glancing over at him. He didn't go half-way with anything. He'd had it for as long as I could remember, but I didn't realize Mom had one, too. "Okay, but make it small and inconspicuous. I do occasionally go swimming with people who aren't supposed to know who the Autobots are."

"It can be as small as a dime and still serve its function," Ratchet said. "And we Autobots understand hiding in plain sight."

I grinned. "True. How 'bout on my hip? That way even a bikini will cover it."

One of Arcee's hands transformed into something that looked almost like a rubber stamp and she stepped closer. I pulled the waistband of my shorts down a little bit so the tattoo would be hidden, and she pressed the stamp thingy firmly into my skin. I winced a little because she was pushing so hard, but Ratchet was right, of course, and there was no sting afterward. I lightly ran my thumb over the dark-crimson symbol, but the ink didn't smudge. This mark was much more than skin deep.

Taking a deep breath, I looked at them both. It was official now – I wore the brand. I was an Autobot.

…

Dad escorted me to a conference room where Mr. Witwicky was waiting for me. Samuel Prime. Seeing him here was almost as dizzying as seeing Ironhide in his holoform after he was injured. For being an important grown up, Mr. Witwicky had always seemed a little…goofy. I just couldn't reconcile the idea of Sam and Mikaela Witwicky kissing under the mistletoe in our living room two Christmases ago with Samuel Prime holding the Matrix of Leadership while his mate Warrior Goddess looked on.

'Well,' I thought to myself as I took the seat Dad pulled out from the table for me, 'at least I'm not screaming at him for being an Autobot, unlike with Hyde.'

Mr. Witwicky looked at me expectantly. "Bra and panties?"

I blushed scarlet and ducked my head.

He chuckled. "No, don't be embarrassed. It was a great line. Much more fun than I usually come up with. It's one of the advantages of being young – you can be a smart-aft a lot more easily. But that's something that will have to change, I'm afraid." Seeing my face fall at that, he added, "Eventually. But we'll start you out easy. First things first. Your official Autobot title is junior officer of terran acclimatization and human integration."

"Um…" My eyes widened. "Can you repeat that please, Mr. Witwicky?"

He chuckled. "Sam. If you can call the true Prime and Leader of the Autobots Optimus, you can call me Sam. You're serving under me, Firebrand, but Optimus considers all Autobots brothers and sisters. We are equals. If you chose to follow me, you submit to my authority, but I am not inherently better than you. Call me Sam, and call Mikaela by her first name, too. You're welcome to continue to use parental titles for Spitfire and Iron Will, though."

"Okay…then…Can you repeat that title for me, Samuel?" (If most of the Autobots refused to call him Sam, I wasn't going to be the slagger who broke rank.)

He chuckled and passed me a PDA – another piece of Autobot-enhanced technology, I was sure. "Sorry. Prowl likes Autobot titles to be precise and inclusive. Here's everything you need to know about your duties and assignments. Your mother is the senior officer, you're the junior. Terran acclimatization means you help the Autobots adjust to life on Earth generally by being the first person they can go to when they have questions." He smiled a little ruefully. "We humans are pretty hard to understand sometimes, even by ourselves. I'll warn you now, though, that they'll ask some crazy questions. Tough ones, sometimes, and often embarrassing. Just remember that they don't understand. Put your embarrassment on a shelf and be honest."

The most recent arrivals on Earth before Trailbreaker's group would have been Mia and 'Jack, and I remember 'Jack in particular asking some weird questions, but Mom had never batted an eyelash. "I think I can do that."

"Good. Human integration means you help them adjust their holoforms' mannerisms and expressions to blend in better. They've developed a library of subroutines for things like smiling and body language, so the new 'bots will pick up being human a lot more quickly than Optimus' original team. Because of the titles you and Spitfire share, the mechs will _expect_ correction from you. You are a human Autobot and I expect you to do your part."

"Yes, sir," I automatically answered.

His smile was genuine this time. "Remember your protocol, Firebrand. I'm not your superior."

I bit my lip and tried again. "Yes, Prime?"

He nodded, accepting that. "Now…the new Autobots will be coming back to D.C. with me at the end of the holiday weekend, so your duties will be virtually non-existent while we're gone. I have a secondary assignment for you, though, if you're willing."

Remembering my wish to do something, anything to help when Ironhide was wounded, I said, "Anything I can do, I will."

"I'd also like you to be the assistant civilian Autobot ambassador here on Diego Garcia. It would be your responsibility to accompany civilian human dignitaries on the base, along with their military escort. As long as you keep your grades up, you will be excused from school to perform your duties as ambassador."

"Ambassador?" I squeaked. "Me? After verbally flipping off the Senatorial liaison?"

He grinned widely. "I'd say that makes you uniquely qualified. You handled yourself well. You kept your head, thought before you spoke, and were willing to lock horns with Joe Marshall, a person of authority who was outright antagonistic. And best of all, you're young. You can get away with saying things I can't. Not anymore. They might not listen, but you'll still be able to speak freely."

"But…won't they think less of the Autobots if they have a kid speaking for them?"

"Not if that kid is you. In the last week, I've heard your name spoken on Capitol Hill, Firebrand. Some people were derogatory, many laughed behind their hands, and one even asked to meet you. That one will be arriving here Saturday morning."

"Whoa."

He chuckled. "You're rolling with the big boys. We've shielded you from that as much as possible, but when your life is tangled up with Autobots, you find yourself in places and doing things you wouldn't dream of in a million years. I know."

I just stared at him, thunderstruck.

Mr. Witwicky glanced at Dad. "Does she know my history?"

"No."

"Then maybe this will help you, Firebrand. When I was sixteen, my dad bought me a car. A piece of crap yellow Camaro with racing stripes."

"Bumblebee?! You _bought _Bumblebee?"

His eyes were distant, nostalgic, and he leaned back in his chair. "Yeah. I'm still not sure how that slimeball of a salesman made that one look legal, but he did. After picking up my friend Miles, I drove my new-old car to a nearby lake…"

He told me all about the adventures that followed – how Bumblebee got him and Mrs. Witwicky together, the All Spark, the Matrix of Leadership, college with an Autobot, and many other adventures he'd shared with Bumblebee and Optimus over the years, including the time Bumblebee landed him in jail for _weeks_.

"When I first got involved, Firebrand, I was only a year older than you, and I killed Megatron. You won't have to face anything anywhere near as big as that. I have confidence that, even at fifteen, you can handle Marshall and his ilk. So...let's begin by taking a look at your interview with him. Ironhide gave you some good advice, but more important was that you followed it pretty well."

"What was Marshall _really _after?" I interrupted. "I mean, his questions were all over the place. Did he _really _think Ratchet and I...?"

Samuel laughed. "No. He was after the same thing he and his cronies are always after – Autobot technology."

"Wheeljack's lab."

"Exactly. And your phone and laptop. As for the rest, he was trying to win your confidence at first and then the part with Ratchet was him trying to fluster and provoke you. People are more likely to say things they shouldn't if they're upset. But he miscalculated. He underestimated you. He saw 'frightened and betrayed fifteen-year-old girl' and thought you'd be easy prey. He didn't expect you to come out with both guns blazing, so to speak."

I grinned at his praise. I'd been able to fight for them – for Ironhide and Ratchet!

"He won't make that mistake again," Samuel said thoughtfully. "He's already pressing to get another crack at you, but with his multiple violations last time, I think we can hold him off indefinitely. But you still need this training. I'm sorry I wasn't able to get out here sooner for it. We'd planned on taking care of it over Christmas, but Marshall moved in more quickly than I expected. It's all part of the compromise; you know about the Autobots now, which means you're fair game to anyone who wants to interview you. I'm sorry we can't really go back on that now – like it or not you're going to be part of this – but you seem to have a knack. Fate gave you Will Lennox and Spitfire as parents for a reason."

"I _want_ to be part of it." I made that decision weeks ago when I climbed into Sunstreaker's alt-form. Granted, I didn't know everything that would happen because of my choice, but I wouldn't go back and change it even if I could. "The Autobots have done so much for me...they're my family. I'd do anything for them."

"Thank you, Annabelle. Firebrand. Now back to the compromise." He tapped the PDA. "It's all spelled out here, but the basics are this. Anyone with Autobot-awareness clearance can interview you, but there are limits. You are free to leave any interview at will, and you can have an advisor of your choice on hand if you wish. Also, any interview has to be during reasonable hours. They can't show up at two in the morning and haul you off to the base or whatever. We've modeled the rules about interviewing you on regulations regarding criminal interrogations and warrants - but you're not a criminal. Remember that, because guilt is another common interrogation tactic. You have done nothing wrong. Ever. These people will twist your words and the Autobots' words – including those of your parents – trying to manipulate you." He frowned. "I feel like we're throwing you to the wolves."

I could handle them. If I could hold my own against Marshall without any training from Samuel, then I'd be kick-aft after the Autobot ambassador and human Prime was done with me. "You're not. You're giving me the weapons and training I need to fight them."

Samuel shook his head and then glanced at Dad. "She _is _your daughter, isn't she."

"Damn straight," he answered, smiling proudly.

Samuel returned his smile. To me, he said, "So the first weapon is the truth, and a close second is silence. Whenever you're faced with questions from humans, always tell the truth, but only barely enough of it. There are a lot of things the other humans just _don't need to know._ Sure, people are curious, but that doesn't mean they have a right to every detail about the Autobots' lives. And then be silent. Silence does far less damage than shooting off at the mouth. And don't ever be the first to break a tense silence."

"Got it."

"Now…interrogation techniques. Like I said, there are limits so they won't be waterboarding you or anything. But there are some tricks you need to be aware of…"

…

We spent hours going over what to watch for in interviews, what information was classified ("When in doubt," Samuel said, "assume it's classified") and how to talk the talk of political warfare. By the time we broke for lunch, my brain was fried. Samuel seemed to sense this and said we'd do something a little more practical in the afternoon, like roleplaying me giving a human dignitary a tour of the base. Practice for this visitor who would be coming on Saturday, I supposed.

On the way to the mess hall for lunch, I was surprised at how easily Samuel moved through the base, almost like he was military, too. He really was one who could adapt to just about anything. No wonder the Autobots wanted him to be their man.

"They were really lucky you bought Bumblebee," I said over my sandwich. "It could have been your dad. Or the glasses could have belonged to a different relative."

He half-smiled. "The Autobots are firm believers in two contradictory things – free will and fate. Optimus values choice above all else, but he has believed all along that his fate and mine were intertwined. He's right on both counts."

"But you could have made different choices…wouldn't that have messed up your fate?"

He shrugged. "But I made the choices I did because I am who and what I am. Sure, I _could _make other choices, but I _wouldn't _and that's why it's my fate. Like you. Your…spark, your heart is uniquely yours, but you're the daughter of Will and Sarah Lennox, so you're fated to be one tough little femme when push comes to shove. Maybe you'd be girly and prefer pink. Maybe you'd be a total tomboy. But when you knew Ironhide was injured, you would have the courage to go to him no matter what. It was your fate, which also means it was your fate to help save his life. At least, that's how I understand it. It makes perfect sense to Optimus, but I haven't been able to wrap my mind around that one entirely. All I know is that when he starts talking about fate, I've learned to listen. You should, too."

Listen to Optimus – that was the best advice I'd gotten all day. "I will."


	14. Duty

Author's Note: Sorry, sorry, sorry about the delay! Thanksgiving Day was supposed to be one chapter, but there was just too much going on and it ended up being a two and a half. :P So to make up for it, here's one extra-long (4K words) monster of a chapter. :) The rest of Thanksgiving will be chapter 15. (Anodythe, the end of the chapter is just for you, and it gets better in the next one.) ;) Enjoy!

P.S. The Transformers are REAL! :D Seriously, Darthishtar processed an order today at work for man by the name of Camden Romero. It made us both laugh, so we had to share. :D

* * *

"Slag," Mom grumbled, shuffling around bottles in the fridge. "Tell me we have green olives for the relish tray. They're Arcee's favorite."

I checked the cupboard, pulling out an unopened glass jar. "Here you go."

"Whew," she grinned, placing it on the counter beside the cans and bottles of black olives, cranberry sauce, beets, and dill pickle spears. "Gotta make a good impression on the new guys."

Alien robot warriors coming for Thanksgiving dinner, and _she_ was worried about the olives and lamenting that she didn't have enough place settings in her fine china. I shook my head at her. Only my mom – the Autobot den mother.

A half a dozen pies sat on the counter cooling, and they would soon be joined by three more pies that Mrs. Epps was baking in her oven for us. Ironhide and Dad were setting up two turkey fryers in the back yard, and I was just about to put the yams and turkey-dressing in the oven. When Mom baked for the Autobots, she went all out.

"Was there ever a time when you doubted?" I asked her kind of randomly.

"Doubted what?" she replied, setting out the frozen dinner rolls to rise.

"The Autobots. I mean, you let them into your home, into your family. Did you ever worry about…well…Ironhide going postal or dropping me on my head or something?"

She sniggered. "Who says he didn't?" I rolled my eyes, and she answered more seriously, "No. Not since the first time I gave Ironhide a wash and wax. To be honest – and I'll deny it if you ever repeat it – I pitied them. Their home world was destroyed, Annabelle. They're _refugees_." She threw the empty bag for the rolls in the garbage can and pulled the plastic wrap out of the cupboard to cover the rising bread. "For all their metallic nature and soldier mentality, they're stray puppies at heart. They needed not just a planet – which they had thousands to choose from – but a _home_. I might be a primitive, alien organic to them, but the things that make a house a home are universal." Putting the plastic wrap away, she turned to face me. "I opened my home to them and they responded. Probably wouldn't work with every 'bot, and I'm sure some humans wouldn't have the patience for them, but…"

"But you can see below the surface."

She tilted her head curiously. "That's what your dad says. And he says you have that ability, too."

"He's correct on both counts," Hyde said from the kitchen door. "And Spitfire or not, you'll have me to answer to if I ever hear you call me a stray puppy again."

"Who said I did?" Mom asked, smiling sweetly and innocently batting her eyelashes. "Tough old fragger of a walking cannon a stray puppy? Pshaw!"

"That's more like it," he rumbled in approval. Glancing at the counter, he said, "You do have ice cream for the apple pie, right?"

"Not for a tough old fragger of a walking cannon, I don't," Mom teased. "But for my husband's best friend who takes _refuge_ in my kitchen, yes."

Amiably grumbling about going elsewhere to be insulted, he stalked back outside – but not before snatching a cookie off the plate Mom had sitting out.

…

The new guys arrived a few minutes later, and Mom and I went to the front yard to greet them. It was always interesting to see what they came up with for their various holoforms. Jolt went for African-American (he was close with the Epps') and Wheeljack had gone for Chinese. Three of the unfamiliar holoforms were Caucasian, but one was African-American and the other looked surprisingly Indian – he'd blend in on the streets of Mumbai just as easily as he would here on the base. R.C., 'Bee, and Mia were with them, though Mia went in search of Hyde almost immediately. Mom walked right up to the unfamiliar femme who had green eyes and an Italian look about her and extended her hand. "Glad you could make it. My name's Sarah Lennox."

"Rebecca Segretti," she softly answered, shaking Mom's hand with a very feminine bend to her wrist. "But you can call me RaFly. It's my nickname."

"Nice to meet you." Turning to the male holoform with light-brown hair next to her, Mom smiled and said, "Welcome. I'm Sarah Lennox. And you are?"

"Caleb Kuhn," the mech answered, awkwardly taking Mom's hand. "My other designation is Hound."

"Name," she corrected. "We humans generally use the word 'name' when referring to sentients. Designations are for things, though people will understand what you mean." She added, "And Caleb is very appropriate, Hound. Good job."

The next mech, the African-American, shook her hand with a little more confidence. "My name is Troy Breaker."

"I'm Sarah Lennox. And very nice," Mom answered in approval as she released his hand. "That's as close as Aaron Hyde."

"Amir Raja, at your service," the Indian-looking mech graciously said, taking her hand with both of his.

I fought a giggle and Mom was clearly flustered. "That's a little over the top, Mirage, though the name works very well. You might want to throttle back on the charm. Something like, 'It's a pleasure to meet you.' And only one hand unless you're attempting to initiate a mating relationship."

He dropped her hand like it burned him while the other 'bots chuckled, but Mom caught his right hand again and modeled shaking it. "No offense taken, friend. You've been watching movies, haven't you."

Nodding guiltily, he tried again. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lennox."

Bobbing her head once in approval, she looked at the other mechs. "Did you catch that? Mirage was exactly right there. If there's any apparent confusion regarding body language or relationships, go with being more formal in US culture. But please, call me Sarah today. Or Spitfire."

Turning to the last of the newcomers, a lean blond holoform who was built like a surfer, she extended her hand. "Thank you for coming. My name is Sarah Lennox, though my friends call me Spitfire."

"My name is Evan Call, though my friends call me Evac."

Mom smiled. "Taking a page out of Jolt's book. It suits you." Gesturing me forward, she said,

"And you all know my daughter, Annabelle. She also goes by Firebrand. She and I are both happy to field any questions you might have. Watch us for social cues as needed. The children – younglings – who will be coming today don't have clearance to know about you, so this will be a good test-run of your integration readiness. If you have to jump in or out of your holoforms, do so from within a closed bathroom. And try to use human terminology as much as possible. Today you can get away with using 'slag' and 'sparkling,' but it will make you stand out in a real-world setting."

Squaring her shoulders, Mom continued, "For your next assignment, you'll be in an urban setting surrounded by humans, and you'll be using your holoforms extensively. We don't have much time to train you on human interaction, so ask every question you can think of and don't be afraid to practice on the adults. R.C. and Mia have spent a lot of time in their holoforms due to the nature of their alt-modes, so practice with them, too."

Mom glanced at 'Bee, er, Cam Romero, for approval, and he nodded. There was nothing he wanted to interject just yet, so she said, "One last thing. To my human faction's leaders, you are refugees. To other humans you might visit while on assignment, you will be guests. But here, under my roof, you are family. Now…" Looking over Bumblebee's team, she smiled warmly and invited, "Won't you come in?"

…

The next hour was spent watching my mom play human-training drill sergeant. She went over everything from basic body language to how humans value their privacy to what topics weren't socially acceptable. (When Evac asked why humans were sensitive about things like sex and bowel movements, Mom chalked it up to the bit about privacy. Didn't quite seem adequate to me, but it apparently made sense to the 'bots, and that's what really mattered.)

Then I brought in the plate of cookies, a stack of glasses, and a jug of milk and Mom coached them on eating. They were all amazed by the flavor and texture, but they got crumbs _everywhere. _I mean, Hound…Caleb looked like Cookie Monster. I'd have to vacuum as soon as we were done here. Except around RaFly…er…Rebecca. Just like the feminine handshake, she had cultured, dainty nibbling down to a science. She must have been watching movies, too, though I'd bet money they weren't the same ones as Mir…Amir. Half-way through, Arcee sent me a text. /You should have seen Wheeljack when he tried to swallow for the first time and choked. Ratchet couldn't resist showing off and used the Heimlich on him./

I fought the snigger, but R.C. was openly grinning at the memory.

The rest of the gang started showing up while we had the 'bots practice walking. (Mom was modeling a feminine walk, Dad showed them what a soldier's bearing looked like, and Ironhide demonstrated the stride of someone who was furious and about to slag somebody.) As soon as three more 'bots arrived, Bumblebee organized his team for a football game. Hyde, Mia, R.C., Prowl, and Skids and Mudflap were the first ones to face off against them, while Mom refereed. Dad would have been in the game, but somebody had to babysit the turkey fryers.

"They're not so different from us," Dad murmured to me as he watched Rebecca and R.C. face each other across the scrimmage line. "Playing together helps them work better together, too. That's part of why Prime has encouraged these get-togethers over the years."

I glanced at him curiously. "What's it like, working with him? With them?"

He gave me a half-smile. "I can't even begin to describe it, Annabelle." Looking back at the game, he said, "Maybe they're like demons and angels. The 'cons are evil, plain and simple. And then you have the Autobots who are…" He paused for a moment, deep in thought. "You know what it feels like? It feels like being one of those ancient Greek heroes – Hercules or something. I'm just a puny little mortal walking among the gods. Doing battle with them. Helping them. That's what it feels like. Every now and then, I kind of wake up and look around me and think, 'Holy slag!' and then Ironhide or Optimus will crouch down and talk to me like I'm important and it just blows me away. And then there are the days I have to deal with the twins and I think they're just a bunch of overgrown tin cans."

I smiled. "You got shortchanged with your name, then. Iron Will – how uncreative is that? Definitely should have called you Hercules. I mean, Mikaela's name is Warrior Goddess."

He grinned again. "Don't go knocking the name. Bumblebee gave it to me." More seriously, he said, "What do _you_ think about working with them?"

I considered that for a second. "I'm with you 100% on the 'Holy slag!' bit whenever I see them in their base forms. I never thought about them like that – as metallic gods or as demons and angels – but then, I grew up with the 'bots and I've never seen you fight a 'con." I half-smiled at him, and I could see in his eyes that he hoped I never would. "I still feel like I'm getting my feet under me, but honestly, my primary duty is something I've been doing my whole life, isn't it?"

"Yes," he confirmed. They'd used me for practice at acting human all along.

I shrugged. "As for the ambassador part, I guess I don't have much of a choice, regardless. People will interview me whether I want that or not, so I may as well learn to do it right. I just don't get why _I'm_ the one being trained. Wouldn't Samuel's kids be the better choice?"

"Notice that your position is _assistant _ambassador," he pointed out, amused. "Besides, who says they won't be? But Daemon's only six years old. You are the first of a new generation of human allies for the Autobots, Annabelle. They will outlive us many times over, but our alliance must and will live on. You represent hope to the Autobots, and you have from the time you were a baby. When we are gone, you will be there to assist both them and the next human Prime, and you must be prepared for that."

"The next human Prime?"

He shrugged. "It's hereditary. We don't know yet if he got the gene or whatever you call it, but that's what they all hope."

I blinked, trying to absorb the picture of the future he was painting. "Wow. I never thought of it like that."

Serious again, he said, "Start thinking about it. Optimus and Sam don't want to overburden you, but you're stronger than I think they realize. Talk to them as your peers, because eventually they will be."

I snorted. "Well I've got some advice for Samuel right now – _ease _your kids into this!"

Dad laughed in answer and squeezed my shoulders in a one-armed hug. "That's my girl!"

…

Hyde's team won the football game, and he and Cam lead their mechs and femmes over to the coolers of soda, amiably talking smack (Hyde out loud, and Cam via a public comm frequency that also came through on my phone). By this time, Jolt had arrived with the Epps' family and the charade of a human Thanksgiving celebration was on.

After greeting the Epps', R.C. moved through the crowd and caught my elbow, dragging me toward the house. "Come here. 'Bee has something he wants to show you."

"Okay…?"

He was sitting on the couch in the living room, and he had my laptop open with a website up. I sat beside him, and he passed me the computer, the speakers declaring, "Welcome aboard, ma'am."

Huh. So he could talk through any nearby speakers. Cool. Glancing curiously at the website, my jaw dropped. It was a blog – _The Daily Buzz _operated by a person with the username Camaro76. "You're slagging kidding me."

R.C. chuckled. "Nope. He's had it for years, and now you're allowed to get a username, too."

On my IM, a window popped up and 'Bee wrote, "It was part of the compromise that got you security clearance. I made sure that blogging rights were written in, and I wanted to give you access in person. It was supposed to be your Christmas present, but now I'll have to find something else." He grinned happily at the thought.

I just glowed to realize he'd worked so hard to make sure I felt included right down to this little detail. Giggling, I threw my arms around him. "Thanks so much, 'Bee! This totally counts as an early Christmas present!"

"Welcome," he mumbled, returning the hug. On the IM, he typed, "We've given you the username Firebrand and your password has been sent to your email already. I know you'll be stuck babysitting during the football game after dinner, but hopefully this will keep you entertained."

Glancing again at the accumulated years of blog entries and comments, I said, "I'm sure it will."

He and R.C. stood and headed for the kitchen, leaving me already sniggering at some of the comments for the most recent post. Unfortunately, Mom interrupted me before I'd finished reading a third entry. "Annabelle," she called from the kitchen's back door, "Mrs. Epps needs her diaperbag. She left it in Jolt's car."

"I'll get it," I hollered back, wistfully setting aside the laptop. I'd be able to read during the game, but for now, duty called.

Stepping onto the porch, I paused, taking in the sight before me. The front yard was crowded with kick-aft alt-forms, from the familiar Topkick (with Mia's blue motorcycle positively cuddling up to it) to the most outstanding of all – Evac's violently orange helicopter. As I walked through the maze of alien robot alt-forms toward Jolt, one car in particular drew my attention. There, with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe on one side and Jolt and Bumblebee on the other, stood the most eye-catching vehicle of all – a soft-top dusty-green Jeep Wrangler Unlimited.

Tearing my eyes away from the Jeep, I hurried over to Jolt and retrieved the diaper bag, carrying it around to the backyard where twelve-month-old Akeela Epps had spit up all over herself and Mudflap, who had been tossing her in the air.

Mrs. Epps put Akeela in clean clothes from the diaper bag, and Mom conscripted me to toss the nasty ones into the washer for her. Disgusted and mildly disgruntled, I started a load of laundry and then decided to reward myself with another visit to the front yard. For some reason, I felt like I hadn't gotten my fill of Hound yet.

Walking over to his alt-form again, I wondered why I liked him so much. Maybe the obviously-not-pristine exterior was part of his draw. Even Prime's semi, arguably the most practical alt-form, had a glossy customized paint-job. Sure, he could crumple Decepticons, but I would have been terrified to go off-roading with him because I'd be worried about chipping the paint. Same thing with Ironhide. And don't get me started on Sunstreaker or Sideswipe.

But not Hound.

I already had visions of _this _alt-form bouncing along the rutted tracks that passed for roads on Mom's ranch, gleefully kicking up mud behind him. Or maybe he'd be somewhere in the Appalachians on a scenic byway, with leaves whipping the side-panels as patches of sunlight filtered down through the trees to play across the hood. With the top down like he was now. Always with the top down and reveling in the sheer freedom of the wind and sky. I sighed with longing as I sidled closer to Hound's alt-form, suddenly envisioning me in the passenger seat and flying down the beach, two tires in the surf and kicking up a wall of sandy water as we went. Bumblebee was fun in a flashy way, but I could just _feel _that Hound would be full of down-to-earth fun. No mech who had issues with mud and grime would choose _this _alt-form. There was just something about a Jeep!

I let my hand rest on his roll-bar, and a voice behind me said, "Can I help you?"

I jumped, heart in my throat, and whirled to see Caleb, Hound's holoform, looking at me with polite curiosity.

"I…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…I've touched other 'bots alt-forms when they're in their holoforms, and nobody seemed to notice before. I didn't realize…"

He chuckled. "That's okay. I'm a tracker, so all of my sensory systems are sharper than most 'bots. Old Ratchet's the only one who could give me a run for my money in sensory processing; his range of sensors is wider, but mine are more honed."

"Oh. Well…"

"Humans are very fond of physical contact."

I flushed in embarrassment. "Yes."

"But I'm still trying to decipher motives behind some of the various touches. What is the significance of touching an unoccupied alt-form?"

Blushing even deeper, I truthfully answered, "Admiration, usually."

Caleb nodded, smiling a little. "Thank you." He curiously tilted his head in a motion that unexpectedly reminded me of his namesake. "But I'm not picking up heat or DNA traces on any of the other alt-forms."

Remembering Samuel's training, I tried to shelf my embarrassment and answer honestly. "That's because I was admiring your alt-form in particular. I like Jeeps. They look like fun."

Caleb perked up at that. "And what would be appropriate fun for a Jeep?"

I giggled, having visions again of tearing up the beach. "Would you like me to show you?"

He chuckled. "Yes, actually, I would!" The holoform disappeared and his driver-side door popped open in invitation.

I hesitated, somewhere between awestruck and intimidated. None of the Autobots had let me sit behind the wheel before. "I don't have a driver's permit."

"I won't let us get damaged," he assured me. "Come on!"

Squealing like some ridiculous fangirl, I dashed around to the open door and hopped in. "You don't mind mud, do you?"

He chortled. "Not at all. I like to live on the wild side."

I _knew _it! "Well then, let's make a few waves."

Hound started the engine and, lightly holding the steering wheel, I guided him around the house and football field toward the beach. He accelerated as we neared the water, and we barely slowed as his tires splashed into the surf and turned to follow the shoreline. I let out a whoop as the water curled away from Hound, the wave almost as high as his hood, and then the Autobot went even faster. When we'd gone maybe a hundred yards, I turned us up onto the beach again, throwing in a donut for good measure and grinning like an idiot. Hound added another couple of three-sixties before diving for the ocean again and tearing back the way we'd come. Yeah, he had the hang of it now!

We zipped back and forth, splashing and kicking up sand, and it wasn't long before Skids, Mudflap, Chromia, Ironhide, Arcee and Trailbreaker all joined us in their alt-forms. Then it was an all-out mud war. (Thankfully, Hound put the soft top up for me and even thought to turn on the A/C.) The femmes were quick and light and were able to dodge the tracker most of the time, but Trailbreaker could throw the most sand, and Hound seemed to revel in it the entire time. When he got really plastered, he actually dove into the water so deeply that it was over his roof, and I yelped in surprise. "You do know I have to breathe, right?"

"Yeah," he answered, sounding like he was having the time of his life. "And the cab is air-tight right now. Just had to dodge Trailbreaker so we could do _this_!" Roaring up out of the ocean, the tracker actually _jumped over _the SUV and I let out a shriek as he landed with his wheels spinning, kicking wet sand all over Trailbreaker. I whooped again, grateful for the off-roading harness that kept me from falling out of my seat laughing. Sweet Cybertron, but Hound was fun!

Eventually we all returned to the front yard, after Hound took another dip in the ocean to rinse off. Mom was there to greet us, glaring at Hyde when he climbed out of the cab of his Topkick. "I'm _not_ washing that," she informed him. "It's _obviously _self-inflicted."

"But I'll rust!"

Pursing her lips, she marched over to the hose, turned it on, and handed it to him. Without a word, she turned and went back inside, leaving a slightly-stunned Hyde in her wake. The other 'bots sniggered and most went with her into the house, but as I went to follow them, I saw Mia step over to Hyde, whisper something in his ear, and then snatch the hose out of his hand.

"Oh no you don't, femme!" he bellowed, but she had already skipped beyond his reach and was rinsing down the bed of his truck. He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her off her feet, trying to wrestle the hose away from her, but she planted an elbow in his gut, making him grunt in pain and knocking the wind out of him.

"I'll break your arm if you try that again," she cheerfully stated, dousing him once with the hose before turning it back on the truck.

And this was why it had taken me forever to figure out they were mates. Flirting between Autobots looked like brawling to me. Deciding I really didn't want to see where this might go, I went inside with the others, sniggering even harder.


	15. Teams

Author's Note: Since it's been 4 months since I last updated, here's a little recap. It's Thanksgiving Day and four more Autobots have landed (Hound, Trailbreaker, Mirage, and Evac). On the coming Monday, they're going to D.C. with Bumblebee (and an OC femme named Radio Flyer) to help protect Sam, but in the meantime, Annabelle and Sarah are helping the new 'bots feel more comfortable around humans. Oh, and Annabelle went mudding with Hound. :) I promise to update more regularly now that life has settled down a bit. Enjoy!

* * *

Dad and the guys had a couple of picnic canopies set up over the four banquet tables in the back yard. Mrs. Epps and I started setting the tables, and Evac…Evan offered to help us. The Epps and Witwicky kids were all playing with Skids and Muflap, so I quietly explained the various utensils and their uses to him. The other newbies drifted our way, and I found myself giving an impromptu lecture on table etiquette. A little thrill went through me to know that these were aliens who had lived tens of thousands of years and they were all listening attentively to me – and learning from me. That was why Samuel had shown me the Matrix, I realized, so I would understand that I was not just a pet or a tag-along or whatever. I really, truly was a valued part of the Autobot team, even if I was short-lived, primitive organic.

I saw Thanksgiving dinner through new eyes this time, and it was funny to watch everyone go through the motions of human tradition. We all gathered around the tables and, one by one, said what we were thankful for. Some were mundane, like Jolt being grateful for good food, good friends, and the occasional good fight. The twins were goofy – like Sunstreaker being grateful his car wasn't boring silver and Skids being grateful for a brother who made him look smart. RaFly said she was grateful for hordes of oblivious humans, and the special few who notice. Johnston said he was happy to _finally _be able to do something Dr. Hatchett couldn't, and the mental image of him pulling the radioactive pellets out of Ironhide's chassis flitted through my mind. Mrs. Witwicky – Mikaela – teased Samuel by saying she was grateful to be married to the most famous man alive. Trailbreaker's was kind of sweet; he was thankful for a gracious hostess and newfound family.

When it was Bumblebee's turn, he placed his cell phone on the table and the ringtone sang, "Got no checkbooks, got no banks/ Still, I'd like to express my thanks./ I've got the sun in the morning/ And the moon at night." I grinned as I recognized it from the play our school did last year: _Annie Get Your Gun._

Hound said he was grateful to be able to stand in the rain without fear, flashing Sunny and Sides a grin. Ratchet gave a pointed glare to Hyde and said he was grateful that everyone who was here last year was still here. Hyde leaned back in his chair, dodging Mia who was trying to hold his hand. "Me? I'm grateful for cannons!" Everyone groaned and his smirk widened. "Seriously, I'm grateful for 'Jack-enhanced TOW missile systems." His eyes twinkled mischievously and he gave Chromia a knowing look. "And for a shielded weapons storage facility." Everyone reacted to that one – R.C., 'Bee, Mom, and Ratchet sniggered while Dad, Johnston, and both sets of twins groaned. I didn't get it, but based on their reactions, I didn't think I wanted to.

And then it was my turn. I looked at the faces surrounding the table – some more familiar than my own and some, like Hound, completely new to me. "You've been my family for a long time. My whole family – big brothers, aunts and uncles, grandpa." Hyde harrumphed at that one, and I gave him quick a smile. "I'm grateful that I can finally, truly know you. Even if I wasn't very nice about it at first."

Optimus went last and his was surprisingly simple – he was grateful for the sun above, for a place to call home, and for his brother. It wasn't until then that I put two and two together. The way my family knew the Witwicky's was because Samuel was Optimus' brother. This was Samuel's first visit since my birthday, so it really hadn't clicked for me that Sam and Optimus weren't actually blood-related. But Optimus didn't call any of the 'bots his brother, and he didn't call any other human a brother either. I could just feel that there was a lot more to this story than I knew.

Like usual, Dad deferred to Samuel to say grace, and I realized with a start that it was because he was a Prime. I also realized that his carefully-neutral prayer took non-denominational to a whole new level.

"To the beneficent Providence that makes us all brothers, we offer thanks for safety and guidance in battle, gratitude for an increase in family and friends, praise for bounty in sustenance and joy, and ask that these blessings continue. Until all are one. Amen."

Amid the chorus of 'amen' I made a mental note to ask Hyde or one of the femmes about Autobot beliefs. The kickin' alien robot warriors had a religion? WOW!

Beside me, Trailbreaker dished a small portion of yam onto his plate and passed it to his left, just like I'd told him. I accepted the bowl and, though his holoform's smile was a little stiff still, I could feel he meant it. When I passed the dish on to Mirage, his brow creased as he stared at it. "What is this? It's an unhealthy _orange._"

"Yams," I explained. "A tuber, I think. My mom made the sweet version with brown sugar and marshmallows this year. It's really good."

He still eyed it doubtfully but spooned a small piece onto his plate before passing on the bowl.

Across the table from me, Mom and Mrs. Epps were explaining cranberries and turkey to Hound and Evac. "I think I'll pass," Hound said when offered the meat platter.

"You sure you don't want just a little taste?" Mom coaxed. "Just to know if you'll like it or not."

"Oh, I don't doubt it's delicious," Hound answered diplomatically. "It's just…it…was alive, you know? A beautiful, stately, brightly-colored avian."

I fought a snigger at his description, instead pointing out, "Turkeys aren't sentient."

"That's true," he hesitantly said, "and I'm sure that to you there's a significant difference between various organic life forms, but…

Mrs. Epp's eyes danced in amusement. "Hound, are you turning vegetarian on us?"

He ducked his head a little before nodding, and she chuckled. "No problem. We won't try to ply you with turkey or gravy. What about eggs and milk? Both are in the pumpkin pie."

"What about them?"

"Google 'Vegan,'" Mom said.

After a pause, Hound focused again on Mom. "Naw. Milk and eggs were never alive. Besides, if I took it to that extreme, what could I eat here?"

"Not much," Mom admitted, and I wondered if Hound knew what kind of demon he'd just unleashed. Mom prided herself on having everyone's favorite foods, which meant tofu turkey and soy-milk ice cream for Hound next year.

He shrugged, untroubled. "Besides, I'm looking forward to your pie."

Dinner continued like usual, and we humans let the 'bots kick back while we cleared the main course to make way for dessert. It had always seemed random in the past which people helped clear and serve and which ones were allowed to relax and be waited on. Like so many other things in my life, this was another mystery that being in the know finally solved.

After pie and ice cream, most of us found a quiet spot under the shade of the palms to relax for a while. I was happily digesting on a chaise lounge, half-listening to Skids and Mudflap as they told the little kids a story. Ratchet, Johnston, Quinn, and 'Jack sat on camp chairs up on the deck in the shade from the house, amiably arguing. Mia tried to coax Hyde to join her and R.C. and Cam Romero on a blanket in the shade, but he insisted on staying by Optimus and Samuel, who were still sitting at one of the tables under the canopies and talking.

Both Samuel and Optimus were leaning forward conspiratorially like they were whispering, forearms resting on their knees, while Hyde sat back and away a little bit, talking with Prowl. If I didn't already know that both Hyde and Prowl were sometimes Optimus' bodyguards, I wouldn't have thought anything of it, but like so many things these days I was seeing new layers and dimensions. The faithful bodyguards stood watch over their Primes – brothers who were born leaders, apparently – even in the middle of this safe little get together.

Mom, Dad, and Mr. and Mrs. Epps eventually joined Mia, R.C. and Cam and they began a game of penny poker. Hound convinced Trailbreaker to go for a walk with him so they could explore a bit more, and Mirage sat near Evac and RaFly, all three of them silently observing the squishy aliens. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were looking bored and giving each other a hard time, which meant a smackdown sooner or later. That or they'd try to get Prowl's goat somehow.

Laughter – booming, regal, unfamiliar – burst out under the canopies, and I looked back to see Optimus and Samuel belly-laughing. "You're on!" Optimus chortled, shaking Samuel's hand to seal whatever deal they'd just made. Then Optimus clapped Samuel on the shoulder and rose to his feet. Prowl took this as a sign and he began calling the teams together for the big Thanksgiving Day football game. (This morning's game between Cam's and 'Hide's teams had just been a warm up to get the newbies familiar with the rules.) People came and went in a swirl of motion around them, but it was like Samuel and Optimus stood in their own little bubble. I'd never noticed it before because I thought it was just that Optimus liked his space, but seeing him interact with Samuel made me realize exactly what that bubble was – respectfulness. No one clapped him on the shoulder except Samuel or leaned close to confide with him like that. They all respected him too much. It was a lonely place to be, that bubble of respect. It made me glad Samuel was here for him today, but I wondered how Optimus dealt with it when his brother wasn't around.

'Bots and humans alike took down the canopies and moved the banquet tables to make more room for the game, and I started shepherding the kids inside. They would get bored during the two-hour-long game, but Mrs. Epps was refereeing and there was no way Mrs. Witwicky would accept someone telling her to sit on the sidelines. And if Mrs. Witwicky was playing, Mom wouldn't be kept out of the game, either, so that left me babysitting the kids. I didn't mind too much this time, not with _The Daily Buzz _to entertain me. I started a movie, popped some popcorn for the kids, and settled in to read.

About half-way through the movie, Daniel Epps and Daemon got in a fight over Danny's plastic lightsaber (they were the same age), and I had to put away the laptop so I could break it up and make them come back to the living room. Apparently they needed more supervision.

Even more dizzying than seeing Hyde and knowing it was his holoform, even weirder than seeing Samuel hold the Matrix of Leadership, was looking at a six-year-old boy pick his nose and play _Star Wars_ with Danny and know that he might be a future Prime. Not only that, but I was supposed to help him and his sister somehow by being a…what? Not just a babysitter, but what exactly? A friend, definitely. Someone who knew the kind of insanity they were born into and could show them the ropes? A human they could rant to when the 'bots drove them batty?

It sounds crazy, but it was easier to wrap my mind around my relationship with the alien robot warriors in the back yard than it was to figure out who these little kids and I were supposed to be to each other. The 'bots were my family. They took care of me and mine. Except for Skids and Mudflap, of course – they were more like obnoxious cousins. Seeing them play with Daemon and Beatrice today reminded me, though, that I hadn't always thought the twins obnoxious. I'd outgrown them.

I smiled ruefully at the children as they settled in again to watch Disney cartoons. If the twins were cousins and 'Hide was like a grandpa, then shouldn't I have at least as close a relationship with them – like cousins? Of course, the Witwicky children were human like I was. Maybe it should be even closer, like step-siblings. The thought made me smile. I was an only child, and it would be nice to have a little brother and sister. At least on loan. Occasionally.

"Need more popcorn, kids?" I asked.

"Yeah! Yeah!" Beatrice exclaimed, jumping on the couch and punching the air triumphantly. "Popcorn!" Graham Epps joined her and they both shouted and giggled as they jumped.

Shaking my head at the enthusiasm of preschoolers, I picked up the empty popcorn bowl and headed back to the kitchen.

The remainder of the game, I was able to read more on the blog posts. There were quite a few usernames I couldn't figure out, though 'Optimust' and 'NurseRatched' were pretty obvious. Some of them I could figure out by the way they wrote or the things they said, like Skids and Mudflap and Mikaela. They had all been in an uproar over an article about Samuel in a tabloid that called him "Public Enemy Number One, Take Two." I was so engrossed that I didn't realize the game was over until I heard Mrs. Epps and Mrs. Witwicky in the kitchen. Beatrice ran to her, arms wide, and caught Warrior Goddess's knees in a bear-hug, shouting "Mommy! Mommy!" the whole way.

"Thanks, Annabelle," Mrs. Epps said, picking up her year-old daughter Akeela who had crawled to her and was now trying to stand up and steadying herself against her mom's leg.

The boys – Daemon, Danny, and little Graham Epps (who was three) had already bolted out of the house in search of Skids and Mudflap.

I smiled at Mrs. Epps as we all headed toward the back yard again. "Anytime."

Optimus' team had won, despite the fact that all of Bumblebee's squad made up most of their players, and so there was lots of grumbling about beginners luck and cheating. For some reason, Sunny and Sides were convinced Mirage had done some sneaky stuff, though he struck me as a little too noble for that sort of thing.

Mia was talking with RaFly's holoform, but I didn't see R.C., and I really wanted to ask her who BrassEagle was. When I asked Johnston if he knew where she was, he pointed toward the trail that led to the seashore. I headed that way, wondering if I wanted to change into a swimsuit and play in the water a bit after everyone left. Stepping onto the beach, I saw R.C. and Cam sitting together on a palm trunk that was horizontal for a few feet, forming a natural bench. They were straddling the tree and facing each other, Cam casually lounging against the trunk where it grew straight up again. R.C. was holding one of Cam's hands in two of hers. Mom's words to Mirage echoed in my mind… _only one hand unless you're trying to initiate a mating relationship. _They glanced at me, and Cam quickly slipped his hand out of R.C.'s, blushing furiously.

Turning, I numbly wandered back up toward the house, my face frozen in shock. Mom was laughing and talking with Mia, Mrs. Witwicky, and Mrs. Epps, but they all stopped when they saw my expression. "What's wrong?" Mom asked.

In a low hiss, I said, "I just saw holoforms holding hands!"

Mrs. Epps was puzzled. "So?"

I shuddered. "So…they're getting _kinky _on my _beach_!"

Mrs. Epps just looked really confused, but Mia's eyes narrowed and she growled, "That's _it_! I've had it!" Turning on her heel, she marched over to Hyde and grabbed his hand, glaring up at him and just _daring _him to try to pull away. He glowered right back, but his eyes grew unfocused as some kind of silent communication passed between them – Mia filling him on how her sister and Cam were getting frisky was my guess. Focusing again, a positively wicked light flickered in his eyes. Roughly grabbing Mia, he tipped her back into a low dip and gave her a quick peck on the lips.

Every conversation in the back yard fell silent, but a shocked heartbeat later, Bumblebee let loose a wolf-whistle behind me, which was followed by cheering, more whistling, and jeers from Skids and Mudflap. The new 'bots hadn't recovered yet and just stared in total disbelief, but every other 'bot and human thought it was a riot. Hyde lifted the rather dazed-looking Mia back up to vertical and smirked. Crossing his arms (and hiding his hands), he looked down at her with an expression of amused satisfaction.

Out of Hyde's and Mia's line of sight, Prime passed what looked like some folded cash to the waiting hand of a smug-looking Samuel.

"Hey, Mom?" I asked, shaking myself out of my shock. "Where do you keep the brain bleach?"


	16. Hostess

Author's Note: The Welcome sign for the Diego Garcia restricted area mentioned in this chapter is real – I kid you not. :) Google Earth never lies, right? (However, other descriptions are my invention because, well, it's restricted and no photos are available.) Oh, and I'll be posting a companion fic to this chapter in the next day or two titled "Introductions: Jonathan Ellis." Hope you enjoy both it and this chapter! :)

* * *

It was the Saturday morning after Thanksgiving and I waited anxiously beside Samuel as the helicopter landed just outside the base entrance. A corporal from NEST stood at attention by our side – Samuel's aid and our escort on the base. This person we were meeting today, US Senator and Head of the Defense Appropriations Committee Jonathan Ellis, was here because he specifically requested to meet _me _after I butted heads with Joe Marshall_._

As he got off the chopper and walked toward us, I sized him up. On the outside, he wasn't a whole lot different from Marshall – a bespectacled middle-aged white man (though he was in _much_ better shape) in a dark suit with a flag pin. I guess politics has its own uniforms. But his history made him worlds apart. About four years ago, Mr. Ellis and Samuel had been saved from a Decepticon by Bumblebee, and the politician had devoted his career to helping the Autobots ever since.

"Jon," Samuel greeted the man with a warm handshake. "Allow me to introduce Annabelle Lennox."

"Ah yes, the infamous Miss Lennox. It's a pleasure to meet the lamb who routed the lion," he said, taking my hand to shake it. It was a firm, practiced handshake that felt disturbingly fake coming from someone who was supposed to be sympathetic to us.

"Welcome back to Diego Garcia, sir." He had visited once, three years ago, and had been introduced to Optimus Prime, Prowl, and Wheeljack at that time.

Releasing my hand, he chuckled. "What? No insult for me?"

"Not unless you insult me first," I seriously answered. "Autobots are never the aggressors."

He barked out a laugh at that one. "Sam was right – you have a crack-shot wit. Well, Miss Lennox, I'm a Northern boy and I'm melting in this heat."

"Of course, sir. Right this way."

With a nod of approval from Samuel, I led them to the human side of the Autobot headquarters. Butterflies filled my stomach as we entered a conference room. Officially, Mr. Ellis was here for a briefing on the new Autobots, and Samuel and Prowl had spent a good part of yesterday morning coaching me in making a Powerpoint for today. But first, I had to be the gracious hostess. Gesturing toward a basket of fruit, muffins and bagels, I said, "Refreshment, sir? We can get you something to drink, too."

"Looks great," he said. "My last meal was on the flight over, and it wasn't much. Any orange juice?"

I nodded to the corporal, who ducked out.

Peeling the paper off a muffin, Mr. Ellis said, "So tell me about these new guys."

Turning on the projector, I pulled up the Powerpoint. "Their names are Trailbreaker, Hound, Mirage, and Evac."

"All mechs?"

"Yes."

He looked a little relieved. "Proceed."

"They were part of a special ops team prior to arriving here, so they have a few more upgrades than most 'bots." Advancing to the slide with a picture of his base-form and stats, I said, "Trailbreaker was Optimus' defensive strategist on Cybertron, but in battle, he's very valuable because he can produce a virtually impenetrable forcefield." The next slide had a picture of his alt-form – an enormous black armored SUV that would blend in with any government convoy. "On Bumblebee's team, he'll fill a similarly defensive role and will be his second-in-command."

Clicking to the next slide, I continued, "Hound is a tracker – the best the Autobots have – and his specialty is holograms. Every Autobot can produce holoforms, but Hound can produce holograms that are much larger and more elaborate and he has a longer range."

Swallowing his bite of muffin, he asked, "How much longer?"

I bit my lip. "I'm not sure, sir. I can find out for you, though."

"Please do."

I pulled out my cell phone and made a note to myself. Feeling even more nervous, I returned to the presentation, advancing to the slide of Hound in his alt-form. "On Bumblebee's team, he will have a more offensive role."

"What's he like?" Mr. Ellis interrupted.

"Sir?"

"You said he'll be one of Bumblebee's heavy hitters, but they're going to be based in the middle of Washington, D.C. I don't need another Sideswipe or Sunstreaker wreaking havoc – "

"OH! No, sir, he's nothing like the twins. He's…He actually reminds me a lot of Bumblebee, but he's...he's a Jeep, sir. He's a nature-lover who likes to get a little muddy."

"A lot muddy," Samuel corrected, jumping in to help me. "My biggest concern with placing him on the team was that it would be too urban, but 'Bee assures me Hound will enjoy exploring the concrete-and-steel jungle of D.C. He's very personable and, unlike some mechs, doesn't get queasy about our organic nature. He'll be a genuine asset."

Satisfied, Mr. Ellis nodded for me to continue.

Flipping to the slide of his base-form, I said, "Mirage's training is mostly in covert ops. His mission prior to arriving on Earth was to eliminate the Decepticon Shockwave. His upgrade is that he can render himself invisible."

Mr. Ellis let out a low whistle. "Invisible as in a hologram that makes it look like he's not there?"

"No, as in _invisible. _Or so I've heard. I haven't had a chance to see it yet, personally."

Looking at Samuel, Mr. Ellis eagerly said, "I'm not leaving until I get to see these guys' upgrades in action."

Samuel's answering grin told me he'd be just as eager to see them. "You've got it."

Then to me, he said, "Sorry, Miss Lennox."

"That's fine, sir." The next slide had Mirage's alt-form – a Ford GT10.

Ellis chuckled. "What is it with Autobots and racing stripes?"

"What is it with politicians and suits?" I answered without thinking. Trying to cover my tracks, I said, "They have their own sense of fashion." Blushing furiously, I advanced to the next slide. "Evac is their medic."

"How does he compare to Ratchet?"

Samuel came to my rescue again. "In terms of Cybertronian medicine, he's competent but half Ratchet's age, so he doesn't have anywhere near the experience. Since he's a new arrival on Earth, let's just say I'll still be seeing a human doctor. At least for a while."

Clicking forward through the presentation, I went to Evac's alt-form. "He's also one of the Autobots' few fliers. On Earth, he's taken the alt-form of a Coast Guard helicopter."

"That will definitely be an asset," Mr. Ellis murmured with approval.

"The final member of Bumblebee's squad will be Radio Flyer, who you're already familiar with, I understand."

"Yeah, we've met. The only sane femme on the planet, in my opinion," he easily said. "So we've got the bodyguard, the femme, the forcefield, the Jeep, the invisible one, and the helicopter. That's everyone, right?"

A little stiffly, I corrected, "Their _names_ are Bumblebee, RadioFlyer, Trailbreaker, Hound, Mirage, and Evac. Yes."

He fought a smile and glanced at Samuel. "I see what you mean." To me, he said, "Good girl. Tell 'em off loud and long anytime someone tries to reduce them to tools like that. They have metal bodies, but they're people and you know it. Don't be afraid to say so. That's what Sam does, and we need a few more like him in this world."

I blinked in surprise, my heart swelling a little at his words. "Thank you, sir. I will."

…

After the presentation, I led Mr. Ellis into the Autobot hangar toward the med bay. Ratchet had consented (under duress) to a _brief _tour of his domain. Naturally, Skids and Mudflap were just leaving as we approached.

"Yo! Firebrand!" Skids hollered in greeting.

"Couldn' get 'nuf a us, huh femme!" Mudflap added.

"Nah," Skids answered, whacking his brother on the shoulder. "She couldn' get 'nuf a me!"

"Guys! GUYS!" I shouted, fortunately catching them early enough in their brawl to distract them. "I'm not here on a social visit."

"Right, femme," Skids continued with a wink. "Yous jes here ta study."

"No, actually…"

But Mudflap was already into it. In his perfect British accent, he quoted, "But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?"

I rolled my eyes. "_Romeo and Juliet_, the balcony scene."

Reverting to his usual way of talking, he demanded, "Line an speakah."

"Fine. Romeo, Act 2, scene 2, line 2. But seriously, guys…"

Placing his hand over his spark, Skids gallantly quoted, "Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead."

I sighed, realizing they wouldn't let us go forward or change the topic until they got bored with their little game. "_Henry the Fifth_, King Henry speaking, Act 3, scene 1, lines 1 and 2."

"Beware the ides of March," Mudflap shot.

"_Julius Caesar_, the Soothsayer speaking, Act 1, scene 2, line 18. Satisfied?"

"Uh-uh," Skids answered while Mudflap said, "Not yet." With a light that even I recognized as mischief in his optics, Skids quoted, "Shall we their fond pageant see? Lord, what fools these mortals be!"

I smirked at him. "_A Midsummer Night's Dream_, Act 3, scene 2, and the speaker is _Puck_."

"Ya forgo' da line numbahs," Mudflap scolded.

"Considering we're not studying the comedies and I had to Google the slagging line to find it, you can darn well accept that. Now, you're keeping me and Samuel and Senator – "

"Senatoh!" Mudflap exclaimed, interrupting me. Instantly their demeanor changed from playful to aggressive. Skids leaned in threateningly. "Dis fraggah o' a squishy marchin' yous two 'round?"

"No," I growled back in my pathetically non-threatening-human voice. "He's on _our _side and I'm taking him to see Ratchet."

Mudflap covered his head with his hands. "Wha' ya doin,' Firebrand? Killin' off da ones wha' is on ah side!"

"Da Hatchet!" Skids shook his head at us mournfully. "Da squishy gonna be _off _ah side aftah meetin' him!"

I glanced sidelong at the Senator, and he was looking up with wide eyes at the apparently-schizophrenic twins. "Mr. Ellis, allow me to introduce Skids and Mudflap – Scout-class Autobots, twin brothers, and closet linguists. They know at least a half a dozen insults in every language known to man."

Mudflap said something completely unintelligible, and I added, "Don't ask."

Samuel cleared his throat. "Actually, that one was in Cybertronian."

The twins locked their optics on him and froze. Finally Skids asked in an awe-struck whisper, "You speak Cybertronian?"

He snorted. "I've spent enough time with Ironhide over the years to recognize cussing when I heard it. Now come on, Annabelle, Jon. Ratchet is a phenomenal medic, but the twins are right that it's not a good idea to keep him waiting."

Recovering, Mr. Ellis nodded at the 'bots. "It was a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen."

I just about keeled over. In fifteen years of life, I'd heard those two called just about everything under the sun, but not once had anyone called them 'gentlemen.' I guess that was part of the politician lingo, just like slagger and astrosecond were part of the Autobots' way of talking. Everyone is 'gentleman' and 'miss,' even if you're trying to rip their heart out and stomp on it. Maybe I _didn't _want to be a part of that world, not if it meant I had to call _Joe Marshall_ a gentleman.

...

I knew Ratchet had put up a fuss about letting even a friendly politician into the med bay, but the 'bot was surprisingly pleasant when Mr. Ellis was standing in front of him. Maybe it was because Ellis talked to him like a person and didn't ask any stupid or overly-prying questions. Samuel introduced them, and Ellis thanked Ratchet for making time for him, complimented him on his ability to keep such advanced and battle-worn Autobots functioning so well, and asked if there was anything in particular the Autobot Chief Medical Officer wanted the appropriations committee to consider. And then he listened with apparent interest while Ratchet ranted for the next twenty minutes.

About fifteen minutes in, I finally thought to look away from the energetically lecturing Ratchet and study the politician. At least half of what Ratchet was saying was going over my head, but Jonathan Ellis raptly watched his every gesture and made the occasional encouraging comment or question. I grew up with the 'bots and knew a lot more about them than even some of the NEST soldiers, but I never suspected for a second that Ellis was lost like I was. Either he was an expert listener, or he was far more knowledgeable about the Autobots than I'd have thought possible.

It wasn't until Wheeljack showed up with a damaged Chromia that Ratchet finally cut short his list of wishes and complaints. Mr. Ellis thanked Ratchet again for his time and we beat a hasty retreat as the medic launched into Wheeljack for his stupidity in designing whatever went wrong and into Chromia for her stupidity in testing the malfunction's invention for him. Just before the doors slid closed behind us, Ratchet bellowed, "Let him get his _own _arm blown off and he'll think twice next time!"

"Not likely," Mr. Ellis muttered, and I grinned. He _did _know more about the 'bots than he'd let on. That train of thought took a sudden tangent; Samuel hadn't denied that he knew Cybertronian. If I wasn't standing beside one of the better politicians in the US, I wouldn't have thought twice about it, but Samuel had sidestepped that question neatly. In politician-speak, he'd practically admitted it. Samuel knew the 'bots' native language! _Wow!_

…

"You're kidding," Mr. Ellis said from the seat in front of me. It was late afternoon and we were riding in Bumblebee to the proving grounds with Wheelie beside me. It had taken a little while to get a suitable demonstration planned, approval for the schedule, and everyone up rounded up. Dad was riding with Optimus ahead of us and we had just arrived at the checkpoint.

"What?"

Pointing at the sign beside the road, Mr. Ellis read, "_Welcome to the Restricted Area_. Gotta love the military – someone not only wrote that with a straight face but posted it alongside the road on an isolated, island naval base."

I sniggered, now that I thought about it.

The checkpoint guards let Optimus pass with a deferential nod, and the rest of our convoy followed – Trailbreaker, Hound, Mirage, RaFly, Ironhide, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Evac had flown ahead.

The proving grounds consisted of a firing range, an urban warfare training area affectionately known as Boom Town, and a versatile open field that could be used for everything from racing to sparring to obstacle courses. The destination for us squishy humans was a shaded observation platform on the edge of the field. Epps, Dad, Mr. Ellis, Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky, Wheelie and I all climbed the cement stairs and sheltered under the pale canvas awning, grateful for the light breeze coming off the ocean. The 'bots drove around to the open field between Boom Town and the firing range and transformed.

Even though I'd seen the 'bots transform probably a dozen times now it was still an awe-inspiring thing, especially when it was so many of them at once.

To Samuel, Optimus said, "So that you will be familiar with them in their alt-forms, I present your warriors: Bumblebee, Trailbreaker, Hound, Mirage, Evac, and Radio Flyer."

They each approached the observation platform in turn, calling him Prime. Bumblebee couldn't, of course, but even I knew Sam didn't need to hear what Bumblebee felt about him. Mirage made a point of formally bowing and saying, "You have my allegiance, Samuel Prime."

RaFly hurried to catch up with the mechs after acknowledging Sam. Dad turned to Mr. Ellis and said, "All of the Autobots' ranged weapons will be set to stun-strength today with the exception of Ironhide during this first demonstration."

"Then what's the point?" Mr. Ellis muttered under his breath, and I smothered my grin of agreement.

Bumblebee's team dropped back into their alt-modes and scattered, beating a hasty retreat into Boom Town. Ironhide strode forward bringing his arms up, his cannons rolling with their menacing hum.

"Fire!" Optimus ordered, and even in broad daylight, the flash was brilliant. Buildings collapsed, exploding away from the blast – all except one. Half of it remained standing, the surviving part intact without even a broken window pane. I could see the yellow of Bumblebee in his base form and a little bit of green that must have been Hound. Mr. Ellis eagerly stepped forward to the safety railing.

"Again!" Prime commanded, and this time we could all see the impact of the weapons' fire on what I realized (after the fact) was Trailbreaker's forcefield. The blast flowed around the protecting globe he had enveloped them in, rippling slightly but otherwise invisible to us humans.

"Nice," Wheelie murmured appreciatively.

Ironhide looked up to Prime, and the Autobot leader nodded once. His battle mask engaged and he unsheathed a wickedly-cool blade of some kind from a compartment in his arm. Striding forward, he raised his sword-arm and viciously sliced down. His arm glanced to the side, sliding away and leaving behind ripples of power in the forcefield.

"Wow!" Mr. Ellis breathed.

Optimus straightened, retracting both the sword and the mask. "Bumblebee. Sideswipe."

Trailbreaker turned off the forcefield. The silver mech skated forward, while Bumblebee almost swaggered into the sparring field, his squad following more slowly. They paused across a small space in front of Optimus, and then, without any apparent signal, Sideswipe lunged at 'Bee. His movements were downright predatory – catlike – but 'Bee dodged him in a neat roll before bringing his own cannons online. His blasts made Sideswipe's shoulders jerk, but didn't stop him as he brought his own swords into play, slicing at 'Bee horizontally and cutting into him from the sound of it. 'Bee spun away from the blow and followed up with a roundhouse kick that Sideswipe deflected with his arm, though I could see the damage that kick caused. Sideswipe swung his blade again at 'Bee, this time vertically, and Bumblebee jumped back once before he flipped forward over Sideswipe, almost landing a blow on the larger mech's back.

They continued this lethal dance for a good five minutes, and I realized that they were showing off Bumblebee's defensive abilities. Sideswipe just couldn't pin him down.

"Disengage," Optimus commanded, and Sideswipe and Bumblebee both took a few steps back. I could see some kind of fluid staining the gashes in Bumblebee's paint, but Evac went to Sideswipe first, working on the arm Bumblebee had dented.

While Evac tended to them, Optimus called, "Mirage. Sunstreaker."

The blue mech strode onto the sparring field, somehow managing to give off an air of boredom, and he and Sunstreaker stood across from each other. Again without any obvious signal, Sunstreaker launched himself forward – at nothing. Literally, Mirage was just _gone._ Not like a holoform that flickered or like he'd used a cloaking device where you shimmered for a second first. Just…gone.

Sunny froze, tilting his head ever so slightly before he whirled, firing a rifle shot that got lost over in the firing range somewhere. A puff of dust and disturbed sand showed where Mirage had been, but I didn't have the slightest clue where he might be now. Apparently Sunny didn't either; his head swiveled as he searched the ground – probably for Mirage's footprints or something.

Sunstreaker's foot caught on thin air and he staggered to his knees. Snarling, he rolled to his feet. Blades like Sideswipe's slipped forward into his hands and he whirled, slashing at nothing. Again he froze, apparently listening closely, until some sign tipped him off and he lunged again. Something increased his momentum, though, and he jerked forward head-first to face-plant in the sand. Mirage reappeared on the twin's back, pinning him, and he pressed a blade like Optimus' but smaller and more dagger-like against something in Sunstreaker's neck. "Do you yield?" Mirage calmly asked in a voice that easily carried to us.

With one last snarl, Sunstreaker growled, "Yes."

As abruptly as the match began, it was over. Mirage sheathed the blade and stood back, allowing Sunstreaker to rise to his feet again. "Not a scratch," he casually told the twin. "Just like I promised."

Sunstreaker snorted, unimpressed, as the two of them headed toward Sideswipe.

"Radio Flyer," Optimus called, and the femme rolled forward in her alt-form. I wondered who she would spar with; Arcee or Chromia would have been a natural choice but neither of them was here. She transformed and stood almost awkwardly in front of her audience.

Optimus' face mask engaged and his sword rang as he unsheathed it again. RaFly was going up against _him_?

She took a few steps back, her arms out like she was guarding a basketball player instead of an armed mech three times her size. He thrust his sword-arm forward, and as fast as 'Bee, she dodged, but unlike 'Bee, her movements were less energetic and more deliberate. Graceful almost, she twirled and planted an elbow on Prime's wrist before slipping out of his range. Pressure points, I realized, as Optimus idly rubbed the wrist and sized her up. He kicked at her, then, knee forward so the long, pointed shin armor was aimed right at her head. RaFly rolled forward and under him, catching his foot and yanking hard enough to throw him off balance a little. With a balled fist, he swung again. This time she half-turned and, catching that fist, pulled him forward. He actually staggered and RaFly brought her arm up to his face, her hand transforming into a cannon. I expected her to demand his surrender like Mirage, but instead she fired, the cannon making a hissing sound.

"My optics!" he roared, and beside me, Samuel's shoulders began shaking with laughter. "ARGH! Evac!"

"Sounds vaguely like Megatron," Samuel sniggered.

Jaw on the ground, I asked, "Did she _seriously _just take down _Optimus Prime _with _pepper spray_?"

The _bang _of a backfire behind us made us all jump, and we turned to see a white station wagon parked on the observation platform. RaFly. I looked from the car to the sparring field where she was standing triumphantly in her alt-form and then back in confusion.

"Hound's special ability is holograms," Dad pointed out, unsuccessfully smothering a grin. "He took some motion recordings of her earlier today."

Meaning _this _was the real RaFly. How the slag had she got up here without us noticing? She would have had to climbed up _and _transformed!

Mr. Ellis started laughing. "That's right. Your ability is being as invisible as Mirage – but without the cloak."

She seemed to drop lower on her axels, and sounding embarrassed, she said, "Thanks, but not really. I just take advantage of distractions. And Hound is _really _good at those."

Still disbelieving, I glanced to where Optimus had finally regained his feet and was walking toward us.

Hearing his name, Hound strode up in his alt-form with Trailbreaker at his side. "Thanks."

Trailbreaker added, "But RaFly provided us with some great footage. And that corrostart in her arm cannon is no joke."

"What's in it?" Epps wondered.

"A solution consisting primarily of hydrofluoric acid and silicon," Prime rumbled, sounding amused. "I've never actually been exposed to it, but I have seen 'cons that took a hit. It's easier to just replace the optic than try to repair it."

Samuel turned to Mr. Ellis. "Well, Jon, are you satisfied? Am I good to bring the new team to D.C. tomorrow night?"

His eyes roamed from RaFly, who was hopping down from the observation platform with Hound's and Trailbreaker's help, to Optimus, to the Vette twins talking with Mirage, Bumblebee, and Evac. "Definitely."


	17. Love and Hate

Author's Note: New story arc begins with this chapter. Hope you enjoy it! :)

Also, many thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. :) I'm trying to go back and respond to the reviews, but in the meantime, please know that I eagerly read each and every one. Your words of encouragement keep me writing.

* * *

I hate my dad's truck. You know who I'm talking about, that tactless, overprotective, insensitive trigger-happy Topkick. Really, truly hate him.

I know, I know, you are all rolling your eyes and shaking your heads and thinking, 'Here we go again.' Well when you hear what happened, you'll totally side with me. Serious! I am _not _just being a drama queen this time!

But for you to understand why I hate him, I need to back up a bit. Two months ago (and seven months after my fifteenth birthday), I was sitting by myself at lunch like usual doing homework when Brian Lee just plopped himself down in the chair opposite me. "So…whatcha doing this Friday night?"

I raised my eyebrows at him in surprise. "Um…nothing?" There was an Autobot football game, but I could always catch the next one.

"Kathryn's throwing a beach party, and I was wondering if you wanted to go."

"But I thought you and Heather – "

"We broke up."

I stared at him blankly and he shrugged. "If you don't want to go, that's fine…"

"NO! I mean, yeah, I'd like to go, if you're asking." Heck yeah! In the hierarchy of datable material on the island, he came in a close second behind Bingham Davis (whose dad was on Ratchet's repair team). And _he _was asking _me_? Besides, I liked Kathryn – her dad served with Mrs. Epp in waste-management and she even talked to me at lunch sometimes.

"Great!" He stood up and left as abruptly as he'd come, falling in with Bing and Alex Wong (whose mom worked with harbor control and didn't have any direct affiliation with NEST). The bell rang before they reached the cafeteria door, and he turned, calling out, "I'll pick you up at seven!"

"Okay," I murmured, too quiet for him to hear. He grinned anyway and sauntered out.

WOW!

I _had _to tell someone, so on my way to class, I texted Mom. Big mistake. Instead of picking me up in the minivan, Mom was there on Arcee's black component, and Arcee (with the other two components) and Chromia were both with her in their holoforms on their bikes. But they weren't looking at me – oh no! – they didn't even notice me until I was only five feet away. They were all looking at Brian Lee. Evaluating. Analyzing. Appraising.

Smashing the helmet onto my head (it had been strapped down onto my seat), I hopped onto the black bike behind Mom and hid my face in her back. The last thing I wanted Brian to see was me hanging out with a gang of warrior biker chicks. As if being Colonel Lennox's daughter wasn't _enough _of a social handicap!

Even worse was knowing that it was just beginning. Before I got home from school, the entire Autobot force had received an info dump of the guy their communally-adopted kid sister was going out with. Before I got my helmet off at home, my cell phone was vibrating in my backpack announcing new text messages. Before Mom got the front door unlocked, Arcee was already planning my wardrobe and Chromia was planning out my dating self-defense class.

I did my best to ignore them, fishing in my backpack for my cell phone and powering it down.

"I bet you never even _considered_ the tactical uses for high-heels," Mia said to me.

"Why do you think I only get her Stilettos?" R.C. cut in. "Those are _warriors'_ shoes!"

"Mom?" I whined.

Taking pity on me, Mom said, "Alright, femmes, you've scoped out the boy. Now let Annabelle be so she can get her homework done. Beside, you'll be lucky if Prowl doesn't toss both your skidplates into the brig for playing hooky."

"Are you kidding?" Chromia said, heading back to the front door. "He sent us!"

I hid my face in my hands, and Mom gently patted me on the back. When the door closed, she reminded me, "They're doing this because they love you."

"With family like that…"

"Who needs Decepticons?" Mom grinned.

I gave her a little smile back. "Something like that."

"There are a few nuts on every family tree," she said, trying to console me.

"We just cut to the chase and bought a whole barrel-full, apparently."

"I'll keep them off your back," Mom assured me.

"Promise?"

"Promise. Now go get your homework done."

I blithely studied the different tissues in plants (xylem, phloem, yada yada yada) and memorized irregular verbs for Spanish, not thinking once about what would happen at five-thirty tonight. It must have been one of those things where you block traumatic experiences, because I should have known that Arcee and Chromia were just the tip of the iceberg. I took one look at Dad and 'Hide when they walked through the front door and was instantly ready to trade them in for the femmes. And that was _before _they even opened their mouths.

"So," Dad said, "Brian Lee, huh? His mom's a communications officer. She's got clearance to work with the Autobots, but no outside interaction privileges."

"He's too old for you," Ironhide gruffly declared.

"He is not," I answered. "He's in the next grade up, but our birthdays are less than ten months apart."

"Still too old," Ironhide grumbled.

"Saw the holo of him," Dad continued, ignoring 'Hide. "He seems pretty cute."

UGH! No one should ever have to endure the trauma of hearing their father say their male date is cute. "Dad. Please. Shut the frag up."

Appalled at my language, Mom scowled at 'Hide.

Dad shrugged it off, instead putting his arm around me. "You're a big girl, and I trust your judgment."

"You don't have to walk on eggshells; I'm not going to freak out. But I _will _hate you if you surrender the role of protective father-figure to a 20-foot tall trigger-happy _alien_."

Ironhide broke off from exchanging glares with my mom in order to glare at me. The 'bots hated it when I called them aliens.

"We all know Ironhide's not your father," my dad said, casting a 'behave' look at the Autobot, "and he's going to let me fulfill my role. I'm just saying I'm very happy for you."

"It's not like we're getting _married_," I answered. "He's probably just on the rebound anyway." I grinned, thinking that I'd happily be his rebound girl. I despised Heather anyway – she went out of her way to ignore me or walk away when I tried to join a conversation. And, gee, what girl wouldn't be flattered if asked by one of the hottest guys around to be a trophy date? I wasn't delusional enough to think he was in love with me or anything crazy like that. This would just be a fun night out on the town (such as it was on Diego Garcia).

"Still," Dad said, squeezing me a little tighter. "It's your first date. That makes it a big deal."

Thinking of the text messages piling up in my cell's inbox, I thought, 'Understatement of the year, Dad.'

…

So that Friday, Brian picked me up at seven o'clock on the button. I came downstairs in the outfit Arcee had picked out for me – a navy-blue bikini with a coordinating tie-dyed silk sarong and strappy heels. (This last had been at Chromia's insistence.) Brian's eyes lit up at the sight of me, and I instantly forgave the femmes for all their nosiness and pushiness. Autobot aunts, at least, weren't too bad.

Mom insisted on snapping off a couple of pictures, and then Brian escorted me to his folks' wonderfully non-sentient compact car, sitting in the looming shadow of a monster black Topkick. Even in his alt-form, Ironhide positively bristled in the driveway beside the little, just-past-its-warranty car. (Mom hadn't let his holoform inside, but he insisted on being here anyway.) Brian was happily oblivious.

The party was wonderful! We swam and played volleyball and buried each other in sand.

Everyone said hi to Brian, wanted to talk to him, wanted him at their table during the luau, and since I was his date, I was in the center of things, too. I'd never been popular, so it was interesting to see how the other half lived. Brian was great, too, and always made sure I felt included.

By the time he drove me home, I was on cloud nine. He held my hand in the car, and my heart soared – until we turned down the drive and I saw that stupid Topkick sulking in the driveway in front of the garage. The mech was just going to have to adjust to the idea that his little sparkling was growing up. If my own flesh-and-blood father could do it, he could, too.

We stopped and got out, Brian coming around the front of the car to walk me up to the porch. "So," I said awkwardly.

"So," he agreed, hands in his pockets.

"I had a good time," I offered. "Thanks."

He smiled at me, and I felt like I was warming from the inside out. "My pleasure. In fact, Michelle's quinceañera is in a couple of weeks. Want to come with me?"

Michelle's dad helped maintain the NEST aircraft, and I'd seen him a time or two when I was visiting the base, but we never spoke. He was always on the job, and anyway, he didn't have Autobot interaction privileges. I didn't know Michelle very well, but her quince would be my second date as Brian's trophy – it was a real compliment that I'd get two. Grinning, I said, "Sounds great!"

He nodded once and then stepped a little closer. My heart thundered as I realized what he was doing. First date _and _first kiss? _Both_ with Brian? I must be dreaming. Hallucinating. I had to be _high_. Lifting one hand, he cupped my face and leaned in. I couldn't breathe.

_Reeet! _I jumped as Ironhide's car alarm went off. _Reeet! Reeet! Ooo-ah! Ooo-ah!_

Brian chuckled and leaned away. "Your dad?"

"No," I grumbled. "Just a glitching _machine_." I'd learned just last week that a worse insult than 'glitch' or even 'fragger' was to call an Autobot a 'machine.' It was as offensive to them as 'fleshbag' was to me. (Thank you, Mudflap, for tipping me off on that one!)

He laughed again, the moment gone. "I'll see you at school."

"See ya," I said, and opened the door, casting him one last wistful look. Mom and Dad were both there in the entryway, hovering over his cell phone. Reading texts from Ironhide. "You've got to be kidding me."

"We were trying to figure out why he was raising the alarm," Mom said defensively.

"It was either this or we were going to charge out onto the front porch and rescue you," Dad added.

Brian was still outside, so I couldn't go flip off Ironhide like I was tempted to. Instead I shut the door. "I'm fine. _Of course _I am – you both know 'Hide wouldn't leave any witnesses alive if some guy tried something _bad._"

Dad grinned, _way _too happy at the thought.

"That's it – I'm going to bed!"

Mom caught my hand as I tried to march past. Her eyes were gentle and I softened a little myself. "Did you have fun?"

I couldn't help but smile. "Yeah. A _lot _of fun."

"Good." And then she let me go.

In my bedroom, my phone chimed before I could even get my shoes off. Undressing quickly and changing into pajamas, I checked the text message. There were two, actually, received at the same time. One was from Arcee and the other from Chromia, and they both said the same thing. /So?/

Chuckling, I plopped down on my bed and dialed them up in a three-way call.

"Well?" they demanded, practically brimming with excitement for me.

"Weeeellll…I had the time of my life!"

The femmes actually squealed and I giggled right along with them.

"Tell us all about it," Chromia happily ordered.

"Let's see. Oh, first of all, _thank you_ so much for your help! You should have seen the look he gave me when I came down the stairs – his eyes were _huge. _I actually felt pretty!"

"You _are _pretty," Chromia shot back, surprising me. Normally it was 'Hide who went on about how cute and adorable I was, while Chromia was more interested in making me into as much of an Autobot femme as a human girl could be.

"I second that," Arcee piped up. "And you're welcome, Firebrand. So tell us more!"

I went on about the party and about how he held my hand and how gorgeous his eyes were when he leaned in to kiss me. "And then your…mate or whatever you call him set off his car alarm!"

Arcee busted up – actually snorting she was laughing so hard – but Chromia sounded annoyed. "That mech's got a thing or two to learn."

"A thing or two? Is that all?" Arcee sniggered.

"All he's going to be able to hold in those thick chips of his," Chromia retorted. To me, she said, "Don't worry, it won't happen again. I promise."

"Thanks, you two."

"Our pleasure," Arcee answered. "We'll stop by and see you tomorrow. After Chromia's had a chance to lecture Ironhide and I've had a chance to help Ratchet put the malfunction back in one piece again."

Grinning, I ended the call and snuggled under the blanket. I don't remember my dreams that night, but I do remember I woke up happy the next morning.

. . .

Over the next couple of weeks, my whole world started to change. It began with lunch on Monday – Brian waved me over to his table to join him. I was tongue-tied the entire time, but it was kind of nice to not be sitting by myself. Of course, that meant, I didn't get any homework done, but I figured being with Brian was worth it.

A couple of days later, Kathryn said hi to me in the halls and even stopped to talk for a little bit. Her friends Shannon and Adrianne started saying hi to me, too. Heather and her clique couldn't give me the time of day, but that wasn't much of a change, not really. They were just a little colder about ignoring me now.

All in all, life was looking up.

…

Michelle would have never invited me to her quinceañera. She rarely spoke to me, and even then, it was only if we were stuck together for an in-class assignment or something. But everyone liked Brian, and for some inexplicable reason, he wanted me with him, so we both went. He could move from one social circle to another effortlessly, and I kind of envied him for that.

She was dressed to the nines in an enviable pale peach satin gown that even Arcee would have approved of. Of course Brian was seated at her table, so I ended up sitting across from her.

At one point, Brian and Bing Davis, who was Michelle's boyfriend of eight months and escort for the evening, had to go outside for something. I gave Brian a panicked look, but he just whispered to me, "Keep her distracted." Then the two of them were gone.

Okay…? What to talk about? Fishing for some kind of conversation starter, I asked her, "Is that an Alice Brandon?"

Michelle looked confused. "Pardon?"

"Your gown. It's absolutely beautiful. I saw something like that on her website when R.C. and I were doing some window shopping. Alice Brandon is an amazing designer. Usually I can only get one of her dresses for the New Year's Eve party."

"No…" Michelle hesitantly answered. "I'm not sure who designed it."

"Oh well. The look is perfection on you, so the maker doesn't really matter. Most people can't tell the difference between designer and imitations anyway."

"Thank you," she said and then mumbled under her breath, "I guess."

Chagrined, I shut my mouth after that and we waited in awkward silence for the boys to return. Fortunately, they weren't gone for long, returning with a bow-bedecked windsurf board carried between them – Bing's present for her.

Other than that one little foot-in-mouth moment, though, the evening was wonderful. Brian danced with me all night, just swaying while holding me close. Every now and then, he'd nuzzle my hair or whisper something in my ear and I'd just melt a little more. I didn't want to go home, but the party wound down eventually, and we walked hand-in-hand to the car.

When we got home and climbed the porch stairs, my heart was in my throat. Would he try to kiss me again? Ironhide was still pouting in the driveway – would he try to stop Brian again if he tried?

"Thanks," Brian said, standing awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. I was struck by how boyish he looked – which was really impressive considering he already cleared six feet tall.

"My pleasure," I answered with a slightly breathless smile.

He inched closer, ducking his head a little. "So…um…I was wondering…"

"Yeah?"

"Prom is in a couple of weeks."

"Prom?" I weakly echoed, no doubt sounding like a star-struck idiot.

"Did you already have plans to go?"

I shook my head, trying to clear it as much as answering him. "…no."

"Would you go with me?"

"Yes?"

He chuckled and ducked in for a startling kiss. I didn't even have a chance to be nervous and then he stepped back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Thanks, 'Belle. See you on Monday."

"Wait!"

"Yes?" he asked, hesitating on the second step down from the porch.

I crossed the porch to him, and with him on the steps, we were eye-to-eye. "Again?"

He laughed quietly and inched closer, raising his hands to cup both sides of my face. Holding me gently, he leaned in and gave me a stunningly-soft second kiss.

When his hands finally fell away from my face, I breathed, "Wow!"

"I'll say." Stealing one last kiss, he all but skipped down the last couple of steps. "See ya!"

I practically danced into the living room – and almost yelped in surprise to see that _'Hide _was waiting up for me in my dad's recliner. My dad's truck playing overprotective father. Ugh! "What are you doing here?" I hissed.

He shrugged, trying to look innocent. (It didn't work very well – 'Hide didn't look innocent even when he was.) "Your dad has the early morning shift, so I volunteered to make sure you got in okay."

"Uh-huh. And who arranged for him to be up before the crack of dawn on a Sunday?"

"Prowl," he answered shortly; then changing the subject he asked, "Anyway…how was the party?"

"Great. Good night." I headed up the stairs as quickly as I could in my heels.

"Annabelle…"

I froze when he used my human name. It just sounded so _weird _coming from him. I'd been 'Firebrand' for almost half a year.

"…can we talk for a minute?"

Grimacing, I headed back to the living room. "Mom already covered the birds and bees right down to protection, Chromia gave me nightmares with her description of all the ways I can incapacitate a guy with my hair accessories, and Dad's practically throwing me at Brian. There's not much left to say."

He smiled half-heartedly but gestured me to sit on the couch next to him. "Humor me."

I sat down with a sigh and looked at him expectantly. He was frowning thoughtfully, trying to find the right words, I guess. Finally he said, "I don't trust him."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You don't have to. We're not even boyfriend and girlfriend – we just had a couple of fun nights out."

He looked up at me, his eyes almost dark. "You don't know…" His jaw clenched like he was biting back angry words. 'Hide was always blunt – he was known for it – and seeing him struggle like this was just…kind of disturbing. "I promised Mia I'd be _nice _about it," he said, making the word sound like something disgusting. "So all I have to say is this: he doesn't see your soul. When Brian looks at you, he sees a pretty femme. He doesn't see _you_. And he never will." That last part was said almost sadly.

"I don't get it," I blurted out. "You're a mind-reader now? 'Hide, he's the first guy who's shown any interest in me. You don't know what it's like for me to be going out on dates. I'm having _fun _and it's with my own kind and kids my own age! You might not trust him, but _I _do! Just because he's not an Autobot…"

"That's not it."

"I think it is," I retorted. "He's not some mech you've known for thousands of years. He's a little kid trying to steal away your sparkling and you just don't know how to deal with it. Well you know what? You're gonna have to. I'm growing up, 'Hide, and I'm not gonna live on Diego Garcia forever. Once I'm eighteen, I'll _have _to leave or get a special visa to stay."

"Annabelle…"

"The name's Firebrand, and I'm going to bed." Angrily I rose to my feet and turned toward the stairs again. "I'm home safe. Go away."

Just before I closed my bedroom door, I heard him softly say, "Good night."

I changed into pajamas, mentally cussing out the glitch for ruining my first kiss. I should be blissed out right now, but instead, I wanted to kick something. My cell chimed with a text alert just as I was turning off the light; I was tempted to ignore it, but then I remembered Ironhide on Ratchet's repair berth with Johnston crawling inside his chassis and picked up my phone. Sometimes you don't get second chances, and I wasn't going to take that risk. Not again.

It was from Ironhide, just like I expected. But the words blew me away. /Love you./

That was a text I wouldn't ever delete. Tears of frustration welled up in my eyes, but I hastily typed and sent, /luv u 2/


	18. Machinations

Author's Note: Sorry about the long delay in posting. I've got this and "The Tie That Binds" running simultaneously, but I have not forgotten or abandoned Annabelle. :) There's much more to come.

* * *

Prom…wasn't much on Diego Garcia. There were only about forty kids old enough to attend, though we did hold it in the Enlisted Men's Club instead of at the school gym, so it could have been worse, I suppose.

You would have thought Arcee had died and gone to heaven, though. When I woke up the Sunday morning after Michelle's quinceañera, the femme and her sister were already downstairs making muffins and tea for me and Mom. I yawned hugely as I wandered into the kitchen in my bathrobe. "You do realize it's only 06:30 on a weekend, right?"

"_Finally_!" R.C. exclaimed, setting a muffin and a cup of tea at my usual kitchen table chair. "Eat. We need you showered and dressed so we can start talking accessories." All business, she sat down in the spot next to mine, pulling my laptop to an angle where I could see the screen, too. "I've checked the shipping times and if we order today, we should be able to get some new jewelry for you to wear to the prom."

I glanced at Mia, who shrugged. "Don't blame me – she was born first! Besides, I took care of my mate being a hassle. You get to deal with the fashionista."

R.C. playfully stuck her tongue out at her (apparently younger) sister, and I studied her closely. She _looked _like my favorite Autobot aunt – except the Arcee I knew wouldn't have done that in a million years. "Alright, who are you and how did you get your holoform to look and sound like R.C.?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Whatever."

"No, seriously. Are you Skids?" My gaze darted to Mia again. "Mudflap?"

Mia rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. She's just excited."

"For you," R.C. added, clicking on a link to bring up the Platt & Masen design house to show me their silver collection. Wow! The only other time I'd ever gotten something from them was when Mr. and Mrs. Epps got married and Mom let her get a little charm bracelet for me since I was the flower girl. They specialized in "the vintage look for the modern woman" and were pretty pricey.

"But what am I going to wear?" I asked. "That silver would look awful with the blue-and-gold gown I wore to the last New Year's Eve party."

R.C. slyly smiled and waltzed to the living room, returning with a beautiful strapless, tea-length dress. It was made of a stately slate-grey satin that looked like liquid silver when it rustled, and the bodice had a matching, subtle brocade. With my blonde hair, it would be a striking contrast.

"Wow!" I breathed. "Where did you get _that_? _When _did you get that?"

She shrugged, though she was radiating smugness. "Alice Brandon was doing a special last fall, so I had her make two for you – one for last Christmas and one for next. The fashion gods must have been smiling on you, Firebrand."

I stood up and stepped closer to get a better look at the gown, and Mia chuckled. "Best of all, it's a transformer."

R.C. smirked at my skeptical look and lifted the hem of the dress. There was a vibrant pink taffeta underskirt – the same color as Arcee's component – that would peek out any time I twirled in it. "A _flirty_ transformer," she clarified.

Squealing in excitement, I bolted for the stairs so I could get cleaned up and try it on. Half-way up, I stopped and pivoted to holler down, "Thank you!"

…

That night, R.C. had me model the dress for my parents. Mom thought it was beautiful, but Dad said it looked 'okay' in comparison to me, making me blush the same color as the underskirt. He always treated me like his little lady. Oh, and Mom had this gorgeous silver-and-diamond locket with coordinating earrings that matched the dress _perfectly _and so we didn't even need to worry about a rush-order on the jewelry.

'Hide was banned from seeing even a holo of me dressed up like that on the grounds that he was still in the dog house. Even Autobots needed tough love sometimes.

Monday, Brian held my hand and walked me from class to class, and I found myself starting to _really _enjoy the attention, both from him and from his friends. I sat with them again at lunch, and he texted me off and on all evening. Turns out we had very different taste in music, but thanks to my sci-fi/fantasy bent (courtesy of growing up with aliens), we both liked a lot of the same movies. He wasn't the avid reader I was, but he did like sports, and I could talk football with him, at least a little bit. (No way in the Pit was I inviting him over for the Autobot football game that Saturday, though. 'Hide would use the excuse to break a few bones.) I was actually surprised by how much I _liked _Brian.

The rest of the week was the same – holding hands, sitting together, texting. In other words, great!

At the football game, 'Hide kept to himself which I had kind of expected, but it was an unpleasant surprise that Skids and Mudflap did, too. All three of them kept giving me Not Happy looks from across the yard, even though Chromia cuffed 'Hide whenever she caught him. I couldn't help but feel a little twinge of guilt when 'Hide would frown and then look away when I caught his gaze, and I had to keep reminding myself that he was the one with the problem, not me. Honestly, though, the twins had me most worried – they weren't exactly as threatening as Ironhide (okay, not anywhere near as threatening), but they were still loose cannons. Maybe I'd better have a word with Dad about making sure they didn't try to 'talk' to Brian.

The next week – the week of prom – was even better. Monday, while holding my hand at lunch, Brian leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Smile for me, 'Belle."

How could I not? And then he gave me a quick peck on the cheek. Our school had a policy against the dreaded PDA's (Public Displays of Affection), so I was shocked that he'd risk getting caught, but he smirked down at me with a devil-may-care light in his eyes, and I warmed from the inside out. He kissed me every day at lunch after that.

It wasn't until Thursday that I saw Heather watching us, cold fury in her eyes. I remembered then that I was just Brian's rebound girl, and I understood with a kind of queasy realization that it was all a show for her. To tick her off. And it was working. Looking at Brian, I began to wonder if maybe what began as rebound might turn into something more. Seeing me staring, he winked, and I tentatively smiled in answer.

…

Friday after school, Mia was the one to pick me up, and when I walked into the living room, Mom and R.C. had turned it into a makeshift beauty salon.

R.C. gestured me into the chair of honor in front of the full-length mirrors they'd kidnapped from Mom's bedroom and then handed me a stack of style magazines. "So, we've flipped through those and narrowed your hair choices down to five. They're marked with paperclips. We all think you need an up-do with some hair still loose. I can trim it as needed."

Okaaay. R.C. was _really _getting into this. Usually she just did the clothes and accessories and left the hair and makeup to Mom. I turned to each marked page, settling on the one with a bunch of intricate little braids. It was pretty, and I had three females to entertain. "That one."

Grinning, R.C. said, "Right, femmes, let's get to work!"

It was amazing to watch the transformation in the mirror. I mean, sure, I was pretty enough, but little by little, the girl looking back at me started turning into someone glamorous. We took a snack break before they put my makeup on, and then the femmes gave me a manicure and pedicure while Mom focused on my face.

Dad got home from work about a half-hour before Brian was supposed to pick me up, and he just kept staring at me like he didn't recognize me. Not that I blamed him. I'd seen the whole thing from start to finish and still couldn't really wrap my brain around the sight in the mirror.

Careful to not rumple the dress or mess with my hair, he hugged me while Mom and the femmes put the living room back together. "You look beautiful. My little lady."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Jewelry," R.C. announced, and Mom grabbed my hand to pull me upstairs.

The femmes followed, and over my shoulder, I said to them, "You guys just want me to make a dramatic entrance."

"Bulls-eye," Mia answered, smiling.

So we hung out in Mom's room, talking and giggling. R.C. and Mia got into a really _serious _pillow fight at one point and Mom had to pull me out into the hall to prevent an accidental tarring and feathering. Boisterous femmes – if they fought like they played, it was no wonder NEST always joked about the femmes being more dangerous than the mechs. The doorbell ringing was the only thing that broke up the fight. Both femmes materialized outside the bedroom door, leaving the fluffy white mess of gutted pillows behind. Lucky them.

I heard Dad answer the door, and Mom gave me one more looking over, adjusting one of the loose ringlets draped over my shoulder and turning me around to check for random feathers. "You really…" She sighed with a half-smile, fighting back the emotion. "You really do look like a young lady. Have fun tonight, sweetheart."

I hugged her, and then the femmes each stole a hug, too, before they hurried down the stairs ahead of me. To watch Brian's reaction to their handiwork, no doubt. Taking a deep breath, I started down the stairs.

I had seen Brian's eyes light up before when he saw me, but it was nothing like this time. Hearing me on the stairs, he turned, smiling in anticipation, but then his jaw actually dropped just a little bit. And then he checked me out – head to toe – and I was suddenly grateful the femmes had insisted on giving me a pedicure, too. When he met my gaze again, there was something like awe behind his smile. "Wow," he breathed.

Of course, Brian dressed to the nines was nothing to sniff at, either. Nobody bothered with tuxes, because honestly how would you even get one on Diego Garcia? But he was in a black suit coat with an aquamarine button-down that emphasized his dark hair and blue eyes, and he held himself with the bearing of an officer's son – straight and strong. His shoes even shone with polish. Slagging gorgeous, that's what he was.

Remembering himself, he held out a wrist corsage for me, and I let him slip it on me. Mom stepped into the kitchen to get his boutonniere, and my heart was in my throat when I leaned in close to his chest to pin it on him.

Tonight was going to just be _magical_, I could feel it.

Brian held out his arm for me, and I looped mine through his. Mia retrieved a slivery-gray shawl and draped it over my shoulders. And then we were heading for the door.

Dad held out a keychain holding a single black key – stamped with 'GMC.' Time slowed as I realized the significance of that little piece of metal. R.C. turned to her sister – accusations mingled with disbelief in her expression – and Mia huffed in annoyance.

"Are you certain, sir?" Brian asked Dad.

"Like I said," Dad drawled. "If I can trust you with my daughter, I can trust you with my truck."

Brian accepted the key, and there was a spring in his step as he walked us out onto the porch. I wasn't even sure I could feel my feet; I was that numb with shock and anger.

Just before the door closed behind us, Mom growled to Dad, "You _didn't_!"

As we approached Ironhide's driver-side door, Brian let me go and eagerly reached for the handle, and I continued around to the other side, but both doors were locked. He pushed the door remote, but neither side released. Narrowing my eyes at the Autobot who was practically radiating smugness even in his alt-form, I hissed, "Behave!"

"What was that?" Brian absent-mindedly asked, struggling to unlock the driver-side door with the real key now.

"This truck is temperamental," I said. "You'll have to let me in on the passenger side and I'll unlock your door for you."

"Oh!" he said, hurrying around the front of the truck. I mentally winced, imagining Ironhide rolling forward just then. "Where are my manners?"

Which was Ironhide's point, I had no doubt. He had somehow threatened, blackmailed, or bribed Dad into making him our ride for tonight so he could make sure I was treated with respect. My door easily opened for Brian and he helped me in before closing my door for me.

This night had gone from magical to miserable, just like that.

"Your name is mud," I whispered to 'Hide while Brian walked back around to the driver side.

"I don't care, as long as you're safe," he whispered back through the speakers. I dramatically rolled my eyes at him, knowing that he'd see it somehow.


	19. Breakdown

Author's Note: A special thanks goes out to Darthishtar for the beta. A migraine hit yesterday afternoon, and so I was in no condition to do my own proofreading. You're a life-saver, girl! :) For the record, updates on this fic will come much more quickly now since I have the next several chapters mostly written. Also, my apologies for not getting this out yesterday, but yeah...migraine. Not so fun. Anyway, enough belly-aching on my part. Hope you enjoy! :)

Song Credits:  
"Cleaning This Gun" by Rodney Atkins  
"Bad Boys" by Inner Circle

* * *

Brian slipped into the driver's seat and appreciatively gripped the leather steering wheel for a second. He wouldn't be so pumped about driving this stupid truck to prom if he knew how that truck felt about _him. _Still, my date put the key in the ignition and tried to turn over the engine. Surprise, surprise – it wouldn't start.

"Temperamental," I reminded Brian as I reached for my seat belt. Ironhide NEVER drove without us buckled in. As soon as my belt clicked, I said, "Try again."

After another couple of tries, the engine roared to life, and Brian grinned at the obvious power under that hood. He threw 'Hide into reverse to turn us around and then headed back up the gravel drive to the main road, gunning it when we hit the black top.

"Your dad's great," Brian said, taking my hand. "I never expected him to let us borrow _this_."

"The truck's okay," I mumbled. "He's kind of a lemon, though. He acts up all the time."

"He?" Brian asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

I shrugged. "Do you think _this _truck would be a 'she'?"

He chuckled, and I couldn't help but grin when those eyes were sparkling with laughter. "Good point." After giving me a quick looking-over, he focused on driving again. "Did I mention you're gorgeous, 'Belle? Seriously. Like…hot. I'm going to be the luckiest guy there tonight, and every other girl is going to be green with envy."

I flushed with pleasure at his compliment and floundered to come up with a compliment of my own. "They're gonna be green with envy anyway – since you're with me."

"That's the plan," he said with a wink. "But who were those other ladies at your house tonight?"

"A couple of Dad's friends from the base. They're kind of my adopted aunts. R.C. was the one who got me this dress. She's a lifesaver."

He checked me out again, reaching over to lightly stroke the satin of my skirt before returning both hands on the wheel. "I'll say."

We hit a bump, and the radio suddenly blared to life.

_"She's her daddy's girl, her mama's world.  
__She deserves respect and that's what she'll get,  
__Ain't it son?"_

"Your dad listens to country?" Brian asked, surprised.

_"I'll see you when you get back,  
__Probably be up all night  
__Still cleaning this gun."  
_  
I thumped the dash with the flat of my fist until the music cut out. Through gritted teeth, I said, "No. The radio's just as glitched as the rest of the truck."

He chuckled again and reached for my hand. "Don't be upset, gorgeous. I want us both to have fun tonight."

"Thanks," I said, finding a smile for him. "I'll just be happier once we're actually at the prom."

"Me, too," he murmured with one more appreciative glance.

We arrived at the dance without any further commentary or misbehavior by Ironhide, and I breathed a sigh of relief when we were inside. Finally, I could enjoy myself!

Brian wrapped an arm around my waist as we walked – first to get a glass of punch and then to join Bing and Michelle near one of the tables that ringed the room. Brian was the one who did most the talking, since I really didn't know what to say, but I didn't mind. Just being here was pure happiness.

When a slow song started, Brian took my glass and put on the table beside his own. "Do you want to dance?"

I beamed and nodded, and he led me onto the dance floor. He held me even closer than he did at Michelle's quinceañera, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, contentedly resting my head on his shoulder. Humming in my ear, he stroked the small of my back while our bodies swayed together to the music. I spent song after song lost in his arms, and when the DJ sped things up again, he led me over toward Bing and Michelle and we danced together as a group. Or, they danced – I just kind of bopped around a little bit. I could shoot straight and talk intelligently to senators and admirals, but I couldn't dance to save my life. I did, however, manage to sneak in a few twirls, and Brian noticed the underskirt. Watching the way his eyes lit up made me just want to hug Arcee.

We spent most of the night that way. Whether it was a slow dance or a fast one, Brian was always close and almost always had a hand on me – on my elbow, my back, around my waist, or holding my own hand. It was like his attention was centered squarely on me and I just ate it up.

About half an hour before the dance was supposed to end, Brian pulled me close and whispered in my ear, "Want to duck out a little early? Go someplace where we can talk?"

I nodded, and we went back outside to Ironhide. Seeing him again made me frown, but I reminded myself that he was just a ride tonight – just my father's truck. Brian opened my door first and helped me in, and as he was walking around to the driver's side, I hissed to 'Hide, "He's polite! See?"

He didn't grace me with an answer.

Brian climbed into the driver's seat, and we headed south, out of the main 'town' on Diego Garcia. Again he held my hand, stroking my skin with his thumb.

"Where are we going?" I wondered.

"Turtle Cove, if you want," he answered, his warm eyes inviting.

Oh, I wanted all right! "Sounds nice."

The moon was bright on the lagoon as we drove. The island was u-shaped, with the town and airport and docks all on the northwest corner of the U, the restricted area with Boom Town and all that at the bottom of the U and the R&R cabins on northeastern section of the U. Turtle Cove was at the bottom of the U and just a few minutes' drive away from the restricted area check-point. I'd driven past it several times with the Autobots, and Dad had taken me down there to skip stones or go fishing sometimes. I'd never been there at night though. With the full moon and the stars and the glass-smooth water of the lagoon, Turtle Cove would be about the most romantic place on the island.

Brian put Ironhide in park and hopped out. I tried to open my door but it wouldn't budge. "Let him be a gentleman," Ironhide prompted in a whisper.

I folded my arms in annoyance. "Who elected you chaperone?"

He didn't answer, though, because Brian had reached my door and opened it for me. Offering me his hand, he helped me out of the monster truck, and I did my best to ignore the Autobot after that. My heels sank in the sand, and I frowned, looking down.

With a chuckle, Brian said, "Better walk on your tiptoes."

I laughed, slogging through the sand beside him as ambled along the shore.

"Tonight's been really nice," Brian said after a second. "You're amazing, you know that?"

I flushed with pleasure and bumped his hip with my own. "Thanks. You're not too bad yourself." An annoying mosquito buzzed nearby and I absentmindedly swatted at it.

He chuckled, bumping me back. "Do you want to be my girl?"

I stopped, blinking in total surprise. "Huh?"

"Girl. You know?"

"Girlfriend?" I squeaked.

"Girlfriend…" he confirmed fighting a grin. He stepped closer – so close I could almost feel his body warmth. "…and boyfriend." His hands cupped my face, his expression almost serious now, and he pressed his lips to mine. "There _are_ some benefits to that," he whispered, lightly kissing me. "Gotta thank you _somehow_."

"Thank me?" I murmured, trying to keep my wits about me and happily failing.

"For putting up with…ugh!" Brian jerked back and slapped at his face, squishing a mosquito.

I burst out laughing as he grimaced at the smooshed bug on his hand. Sniggering, I said, "Maybe we should head indoors."

"How 'bout back to the truck?" he offered instead, wiping the bug on his pant leg.

I slipped my hand into his (clean) one. "I guess I could live with that." Maybe Ironhide would be less of a pain if he knew Brian was serious about me.

We walked back – well, I tiptoed and he walked – and again Brian remembered to open my door without 'Hide having to glitch about it. I was starting to feel at least two more mosquito bites on my arms, so even though Brian and I would be having this conversation under Autobot surveillance, I was grateful to be back in the cab. Slagging mosquitoes!

"Yes," I said, when Brian was behind the wheel again.

"Huh?"

"I never answered your question," I explained. "Yes, I'll be your girlfriend."

His grin lit up his entire face, and I sighed at little. He _was _strikingly handsome. Leaning closer, he kissed me again, much more confidently this time. I melted a little with each kiss, each caress as he stroked me – my face, my hair, my arms.

With a breathless chuckle, he leaned away, but I followed him, my lips still seeking his. He sighed a soft, totally-sexy moan and I felt his tongue…

_Bad boys, bad boys whatcha gonna do?  
__Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?_

I growled in frustration. Lifting my Chromia-selected, steel-spiked stiletto sandal, I _kicked_ as hard as I could, driving the heel through Ironhide's radio console.

Brian jerked upright. "What the hell, 'Belle? Your dad's gonna _kill _me!"

I blushed scarlet, realizing I had no way to explain that it was just a love-tap for an Autobot. Drawing on my junior ambassador training, I tried to shrug it off. "Some guy on the base will fix it. No big deal. Dad takes this thing into some pretty dicey situations, and it won't be the first time the repair team would have to fix something cosmetic like this."

Brian was still looking shocked, so I tried to kiss him, but he gently pushed me away. "If I'm going to get you home on time, we have to leave now." He turned the key in the ignition and the engine reluctantly grumbled to life. Ironhide was feeling cranky.

Something told me Brian was much more concerned about keeping curfew now than he had been a couple of minutes ago. Probably he was terrified of what my dad's reaction would be to his truck coming home damaged and wanted to be extra-sure to stay on Dad's good side. I fleetingly wondered if it would help to tell him that Dad would laugh. Probably not, since I couldn't explain what the joke would be.

I wistfully stared out the passenger-side window at the gorgeous moon over the romantic lagoon and sighed.

When we got home, I took preemptive measures and grabbed Dad by the hand, hauling him out to the front yard before Brian could protest. "See," I proudly said, pointing to the radio. "I fixed that glitch for you!"

He busted out in guffaws so loud that Mia, RC, _and _Mom all found their way to the front porch to see what was going on. And then _they _laughed – especially Chromia. Brian hastily shook hands with Dad and left.

So even though Prom ended with Brian running away and everyone laughing, at least it wasn't at me. That, and Brian was now my boyfriend. I squealed and grabbed RC by the arm when I remembered that. "He asked me to be his steady!"

And of course, I spent the next hour in my room with Mom and Arcee telling them all about it. (Chromia had slipped away murmuring something about Ironhide. I wasn't sure if she was going to kick him some more or kiss his boo-boos better, and frankly, I didn't want to know.)

All things considered, the night _definitely _could have been worse!

…

Monday morning Brian was waiting for me at school. He casually slung his arm over my shoulders and we walked together through the front doors, declaring to the whole world that we were boyfriend and girlfriend.

I don't think I heard a single thing said that day by the teachers or my classmates, I was flying that high. Nothing but the sound of Brian's laugh or his whispered words – "beautiful," "happy," and (my favorite of all) "_mine._" When classes let out for the day, he kissed me on the sidewalk for everyone to see.

I don't think I've ever been so excited to go to school in my life. Tuesday was pure bliss again. In the back of my mind, I knew the Autobots would come down on me like a ton of bricks if I flunked my finals, so I tried to focus. It didn't work very well, but I told myself that was probably okay because it was still only the first week of May, so I had some time to catch up.

On Wednesday, Brian and I got our first official warning on the whole PDA thing at lunch. I should have been embarrassed to death, but Brian winked at me, and it was all I could do to not giggle right in front of the vice-principal.

Thursday we were more discreet, taking bathroom passes at the same time so we could meet in a corner down by the gym for a couple minutes of kissing and giddy rebellion. _And we actually got away with it! _Mom told me that afternoon when she picked me up that I looked like the cat that ate the canary. "Who says I didn't?" I retorted with a grin.

Friday was early out, but I guess Mom forgot because she never showed up. It wasn't a super-long walk, so Brian and I set out hand-in-hand. It was heading into winter here in the Southern Hemisphere, but all that meant on Diego Garcia was that we had sweltering-hot afternoons instead of the blistering-hot kind. It was only polite to invite Brian in to the air conditioning when we got home. I had absolutely no ulterior motive whatsoever. (And if you believe that, I have a solar harvester in Egypt for sale.) And it was through no conniving on my part that we ended up snug and horizontal on the couch exploring this new and interesting world of French kissing. Nope. I was just along for the ride. _Riiiight_.

That night we went to the movies. Once a month, the base hosted a movie night in the open-air amphitheater just south of town and my parents 'just happened' to come along, too. So…double-date with my folks. Yeah. As if that was enough of a dampener, we spread our blankets and pillows out on the grass right in front of Ironhide.

Not much kissing went on that night, but I discovered just how _sensuous _holding hands could be. Brian stroked my palm with his thumb or caressed the back of my hand with his fingertips until I had shivers running up and down my arm. And that's not counting what it did to me when he trailed his fingernails along the inside of my wrist. I was _melting_ right there in the middle of the crowd with my parents on the blanket right next to ours. Before parting ways that night, Brian kissed my hand, and I swear I felt that shiver all the way to my toes.

I spent most of Saturday at home catching up on home work and chores, but Sunday Brian took me to the west beach of the lagoon and we spent a couple of hours there windsurfing and soaking up the sun. And kissing. I did mention the kissing, right? Playful little pecks on the cheek, slow serious kisses, hungry open-mouthed ones – I got a little bit of every kind of bliss. When Hyde showed up to bring me home, I felt like it had been ten minutes instead of two and a half hours.

And Monday, we began it all over again!

My second weekend as Brian's girlfriend, we went back to Turtle Cove, but this time we were smart and stayed in the cab, partly because of the mosquitoes but mostly because it was raining. I never knew before then that the whole fogging up the windows thing was literal.

The third weekend we went for variety and watched the sunset from the bed of Ironhide's alt-form out on Cannon Point. (I figured the location might make Ironhide a little more bearable.) But the bed of a truck isn't the most comfortable place for making out, so after it was dark we ended up in the cab again. The comfy, _spacious_ cab.

We'd spent plenty of time hand-holding and sharing little kisses in the gathering dusk, so once we were settled in, we went straight for fogging up the windows again. It was harder without the rain, but we still made a valiant effort. I was sprawled across Brian, running my fingers through his hair and reveling in the feel of his hungry mouth and wandering hands.

Brian slipped his hand under the hem of my shirt. With sudden clarity I understood what was happening, where this was headed. Maybe not right this second, maybe not for days or weeks, but this path Brian and I were on lead to only one destination – sex. Was I ready for that?

Ironhide shuddered. I jerked back.

Brian didn't seem to notice my shock, instead asking, "Was that an earthquake?"

"I don't know," I lied.

"Huh. Must have just been the tires settling in the sand." He leaned in, pressing his lips to mine.

I was too shaken, and Ironhide's reminder that he was still _here_ was a total mood killer. I broke off the kiss. "Brian, I...I really don't want my first time to be in the cab of a pickup, you know?" _Especially_ not _this_ pickup.

"I understand, Belle." His hands moved through my hair, pulling me close for another, lingering kiss. "What do you want? On a beach under the stars?"

"I don't know." I hadn't thought about this. Hadn't anticipated it. We'd only officially been boyfriend and girlfriend for less than a month.

"Does it sound good to you, though? The sound of the water on the shore. Our bodies moving –"

Ironhide shifted again. SLAG! Why couldn't he be like Bumblebee and _encourage_ me? This dating thing was scary enough _without_ a meddling, overprotective Autobot electing himself chaperone.

"Please, Brian. Not right now."

His warm eyes glowed in the white moonlight. "Then when, Belle? Why not tonight?"

"I'm just...not ready, okay? Maybe we could talk about it tomorrow?"

He sat up straighter and slid over behind the steering wheel again. Still running one hand over my upper arm, he playfully said, "But I want to talk about it now. I want to talk about how beautiful you are. Really, you're gorgeous. Do you have any idea what it did to me to see you in that bikini on our first date? I've never been so –"

Ironhide started rolling forward, and with a shout of surprise, Brian stood on the brake. "What the hell?" Reaching for the emergency brake, he locked us down. "There. You need to tell your Dad this thing almost put us in the ocean. He really got a lemon with this truck, I'm telling you."

_Really_ not helping here, boyfriend. Don't tick off the one with the cannons. "Maybe we should just head home."

His breath whooshed out, and he rested his forehead on the steering wheel. "You know what? Fine. I'll take you home."

"It's just the truck," I mumbled out in apology. "Like you said. It's a lemon."

"Of all the stupid…" Angrily, he released the brake. "Stop using the damn truck as an excuse, Belle. You're just not attracted to me; there's no chemistry." He turned the key in the ignition, and miracle of miracles, it worked on the first try for him this time. He threw it in gear, making a half-donut in the sand before pulling up onto the blacktop.

"That's not it, Brian. That's not it at all."

"Then what's the problem? I'll be good to you, Belle. You'll like it, I promise. You'll be begging for more, even if we are in the back seat of a truck."

How could he promise that, unless this wasn't his first time? Unless he'd had sex with other girls, too? Other girls like Heather.

The engine suddenly revved with fury, and I could almost hear the choice words Ironhide would have for Brian, if he was allowed to talk right now. "Brian...I mean this in the kindest possible way. If you value your life, you won't say another word the rest of the way home."

Ironhide squealed to a stop. Brian got out and slammed the door. "That's it!"

"What? What's wrong?"

His eyes, so enticing before, now blazed in anger. "I've had it with you and the way you keep throwing your daddy and his rank in my face."

"WHAT?"

"All you had to say was no, Belle! That's all you had to say. N.O. Simple! I'm not a _rapist_. But that's not good enough for the Colonel's drama queen. You have to show off that you're Rambo's daughter and threaten my life. The rest of us gave up pretending we were superheroes _years _ago! Cutting class with a _military _escort. Putting your foot through the dashboard with your _ninja skillz_. I've had it!"

Stunned, I could only stare as tears welled up in my eyes. "I never," I breathed.

Brian half-turned, already edging away from me. "You know, the high-maintenance girls are only worth it if they give me something in return. I've been with you for two months, Belle, and the only ride I got was a pickup."

I tried to breathe, but my lungs wouldn't work right. His words knocked the wind right out of me.

"You're a snob, Belle. First and foremost, the colonel's daughter. Always. Rank is more important to you than anything else because it makes_ you_ better than everyone else. You're a snob and a bitch of a military brat."

He turned his back and walked away, leaving the engine running in the middle of the road. Tears rolling down my cheeks, I leaned back in my seat, still trying to catch my breath. I didn't notice my hands were balled into fists until my fingernails were biting into my palms. I wasn't! I didn't obsess about rank, not that way! No, no, no, no! Breathe!

A hand touched my arm and I startled. It was Hyde, a heartbroken apology in his blue eyes. My breathing hitched into a sob, and he gathered me into his arms, letting me cry. "I didn't mean for him to break up with you," he whispered, stroking my hair. "I just wanted him to stop talking about you like that."

I knew that. Didn't change what happened. Through my sobs, I ordered him, "Take me home."


	20. A Proposition

I staggered through the front door, blinded by tears, but Hyde's steady hand under my elbow didn't let me walk into anything. "What…?" I heard Mom exclaim, but she didn't say anything after that, so I figured Hyde must have silenced her with a look.

The only good thing about Ironhide being a witness to my disastrous breakup was that I didn't have to tell anyone. "'M going to bed," I mumbled and, finding the railing for the stairs, dragged myself up to my room.

Brian's parting shot ran through my mind over and over. _Colonel's drama queen. Snob. Bitch._

I _wasn't _a snob! I never was invited to _anything_! And nobody came when I invited them. Nobody except the Autobots. Nobody except grownups and aliens.

I weakly laughed through my tears as I curled up in the middle of my bed. No wonder I was a slagged-up mess when it came to social stuff. Aliens and adults – _they _were my peers.

I didn't cut class with a military escort because I was Rambo's daughter – it was because I was a fragging ambassador! And I couldn't – wasn't allowed – to explain it to Brian or any of the kids at school. My shoulders shook again with sobs. So. Not. Fair!

But Brian was right about one thing – the only thing special about me was that I was Will Lennox's daughter. I wouldn't be a junior Autobot ambassador and holoform trainer if I'd been somebody else's kid. Mr. Witwicky wouldn't know me from Eve if my mom wasn't the Autobot den mother. I was nobody. Just the teenage brat who happened to be in the right place at the right time.

Eventually my bedroom door creaked on its hinges, and Mom sat beside me on the bed. She didn't say anything – just rubbed my back while I cried. I sobbed harder at first, now that someone was here to lean on, but eventually the sobs eased up to weeping until I was finally cried out except for the occasional sniffle. All the while, Mom patiently sat with me. Finally she offered, "I love you."

That brought on another round of water works. It was something, at least, that she still loved me despite me being such an idiot with Brian. At least she wasn't embarrassed by me. She brushed the hair away from my face and softly asked, "What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

"Nothing," I mumbled.

A beat later, she said, "Okay. But if you change your mind or think of anything – and I do mean _anything _– let me know."

"K," I agreed with a shuddering breath.

She kissed my forehead. "Good night."

…

The next morning, Sunday, I heard a light tap on my bedroom door. My eyes were all gritty from the crying, and I rubbed them as I called, "If you're here to cheer me up, go away!"

My dad answered, "What if I'm here to offer my services as a hitman?"

I snorted despite myself. He was mostly joking. I hoped. "I'm listening."

He pushed the door open and sat down beside me on the bed. More serious now, he asked, "You okay?"

"I will be," I promised him.

"Ironhide told us what happened."

"Showed you a holo, didn't he."

His poker face was all the answer I needed. I groaned and buried my face in my pillow.

"My point," he said, "is that you don't _have _to talk about it, but I'm here if you want to. Your mom and me both." After a second of hesitation, he added, "And so is Ironhide."

"That glitch had the ball-bearings to say that?" I demanded.

Dad's eyes flashed in anger for a second before he reined himself in. "He didn't have to, Annabelle. I've only ever seen him that upset once."

I didn't have to be a genius to figure out when that one other time might be – and that one had been my fault, too. Nobody had upset him like I did on my fifteenth birthday. With a sinking feeling, I realized that Upset Ironhide meant Violent Ironhide. "Tell me he hasn't blown a great big crater in the island where Brian used to be standing."

"Not yet, though he's threatened to go after him. The femmes have, too, and if I were in Brian's shoes, I think I'd prefer Ironhide as my executioner."

"Don't," I said, frowning and refusing to start crying again. "Don't let them. Not for me."

He blinked once in surprise. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I let out an exasperated sigh. "It means what you think it means, Dad. Me – my feelings or honor or whatever other crazy slag they think their defending – I'm not worth _them _going against the Autobot code. It's not even worth them getting in trouble with the brass for blowing their cover while harassing him."

"They think it is. That _you _are worth it."

I snorted, and it made me sneeze. Dad handed me the box of tissues from my night stand.

"I'm serious, Annabelle," he said after I'd blown my nose. "I don't ever want to hear that you don't think you're worth it."

"But I'm not!" I insisted. "I'm like the cute puppy in the pet-store window – in the right place at the right time to get adopted. I don't have anything _special _to offer." Despite myself, my eyes started tearing up again. "I can't fight and I don't have Mom's hospitality and…"

"Samuel Prime thinks otherwise," Dad softly interrupted. "You remember. He said as much – that fate had put you in our family for a reason. Being in the right place in the right time is _proof _that you have something unique to offer. Like how you handled Joe Marshall's interrogation. You _do _have gifts, and they _do…_" He paused. "But that's not what you're saying, is it."

I grimaced a little and looked down.

"Slag," he muttered under his breath. Looking at me, he said, "We love you for _you_, Annabelle. Not because of what you have to offer but because of what you _are_. You have grown into a young woman who I honestly think will be an important ally for the Autobots. But even when you were just a baby, we loved you. _I _loved you so much that I walked through Soccent's destruction and through every battle from Mission City onward so I could make the world a little safer for you."

In other words, he'd take a bullet for me. I knew as a matter of fact that he _had _taken bullets. Even when things were at their best with me and Brian, I don't think I would have believed he loved me that much.

Something I'd heard the chaplains say at several NEST funerals randomly ran through my head. _Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends._

I swallowed hard, remembering Ironhide stretched out on the repair berth while Johnston pulled radioactive pellets out of the Autobot's cavernous chest. I knew without a doubt that Ironhide would take a deathblow for me. Same thing with Arcee and Chromia and Ratchet. Optimus would, no question. Probably even Wheelie. I glanced up at Dad. "Is Ironhide still here?"

"Yeah," Dad cautiously admitted.

I took a deep breath and threw off the covers. "I'm going to go see him," I announced, though I paused long enough to give Dad a tight hug. "Thanks."

"Anything for you," he said, smoothing my hair and kissing the top of my head. It wasn't the type of kiss I'd been getting, but it was familiar – and much more real.

Mom waylaid me in the kitchen with a tight squeeze and promises of pancakes, and I embraced her back before walking out onto the back deck. Ironhide loomed black and silent in the shadow of the palms. I sank down to sit on the steps of the deck, belatedly realizing that I must look pretty silly in my pink flannel pajama pants and black tanktop with messed-up morning hair.

"Hey," I softly said.

"Good morning," he rumbled as quietly as he could.

I sighed, trying to sort through my feelings. I was plenty angry still, not to mention hurt, but I had a little more perspective than I did last night. For one thing, I'd realized – as much as I hated to admit it – that he had been right.

"I didn't appreciate it," I murmured.

"I'm sorry, Annabelle. I truly am. I…" He floundered for words, and I realized he'd misunderstood me.

"No, I mean, I _should _have appreciated it and didn't."

He waited in wary silence for the rest.

"If you say 'I told you so,' I'll hate you forever – or at least for a few days. But…you were right about the whole 'he doesn't see your soul' thing. I should have listened. _I'm_ sorry." I swallowed hard, tears welling in my eyes again as I remembered Brian's brutal words last night. "Don't do it again. I'll listen, or at least I'll try, but don't interfere again, 'kay? Because I love you but I _seriously _want to slash your tires right now."

Aaron Hyde materialized in front of me and silently offered me a bowie knife. I huffed a half-hearted chuckle and pushed it aside, instead throwing my arms around him. He held me close, stroking my hair just like Dad. "Thanks for watching out for me," I whispered through tears of gratitude now. "And thanks for not killing Brian."

"Your mother explained pretty vividly that it would only make things worse between us. _You_ are the only thing more important than ending his worthless life."

And I think that was the most emphatic way Ironhide could have ever told me he loved me. "She was right," I said, just to be clear on that point. "The idea is tempting, but you're an Autobot. You're one of the good guys. I want you to stay that way."

He grunted, but didn't actually answer.

"Besides, he's nothing. Nobody. Definitely not worth _your_ time and attention."

"He was worth yours," Ironhide answered, a subdued threat in his voice, and I knew that Brian still had a bulls-eye on his head.

"Not anymore," I replied, defiance welling up in my soul. He wasn't worth Ironhide's time or mine. "Not anymore."

…

The next day I went to school with mascara on and my chin held high. If he was going to be a slagging bastard, I wasn't going to shed a tear for him. After school was a different story, though, because no matter how much I told myself Brian wasn't worth it, I still _hurt_. I cried my mascara off and when I finally pulled myself together, I went downstairs to the living room and threw myself into doing homework. The glitch of a human _would _break up with me the week before finals. I was half-way through Spanish vocab when the doorbell rang. I was listening to music, so I let Mom answer it. Even through the headphones, though, I could hear Sideswipe's boisterous, "Hey, Spitfire!"

I half-smiled at the sound and pushed my books aside, taking off the headphones. It wasn't like I was enjoying trying to cram months' worth of learning into a few hours of studying. Autobots were bound to be a better distraction than finals.

"Hi guys!" Mom sounded genuinely surprised. "What's up?" A beat later, she said, "Oh. I don't know if…"

Sunstreaker's holoform pushed past her into the living room, and I stood up to greet him. And then I saw what he had in his hands. A dozen roses in a vase, half silvery grey and half sunny yellow. Oh.

Sunny set the vase on the coffee table between us and then stepped back. Sideswipe was nervous, you could tell by the way his hands were constantly in motion. Sunstreaker, however, was the picture of nonchalance. He stood, leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb with his hands in his pockets.

After exchanging a glance with his brother, Sideswipe said, "So we need you to settle a question for us, Firebrand."

"Yeah," Sunstreaker added. "Because _I_ think you'll want to go out with me because I'm better looking…"

Sideswipe jumped in, "But _I _think you'll have _taste_ and will choose someone with an actual personality. Besides, Sunstreaker's the homicidal one, so you'll want _him _to be the one to beat up Brian."

"But _I_ think," Sunny answered, "you might not want Brian to actually _die _so you'll go out with me and let Sides be the one to bloody the idiot."

"But _I _think your dad's less likely to have an aneurism if you go on a date with _me._"

"But _I _think…"

"HOLD IT!" Mom said, stepping to my side and crossing her arms. "Who says she's going on a date with either of you?"

They looked at each other like the idea of me _not _choosing one of them had never entered their processors.

"Don't you want to date?" Sunny asked.

Mom pursed her lips but didn't say anything.

"Um, yeah," I answered, finally finding my voice, "but not my big brothers!"

Sideswipe was genuinely confused. "We're not…"

Mom sighed. "Look, it's a very kind gesture, but I think maybe we should let Annabelle study while you and I have a little talk in the backyard."

"It's 'cause we're too old, isn't it," Sunstreaker grumbled. "You want the _younger_ twins."

Sideswipe visibly brightened. "We can make our holoforms younger."

Exasperated, I threw my hands in the air. "I don't want to date _any _Autobot!"

"Well if a date is just having fun like you told Ironhide, then why not?"

"Because it'd be a pity date, that's why." The tears sprang to my eyes again, and I angrily wiped them away. It wasn't their fault that the intricacies of human courtship were lost on them.

"Well that solves everything," Sunstreaker said with a smirk. "Everyone knows I have _no_ pity. Go out with me. A movie and ice cream."

"Ugh, Sunstreaker! No. And for future reference, bringing up past homicides is _not _the way to convince girls to date you."

"Jolt?" Sunny pressed. "He's never harmed an Insecticon."

I crossed my arms. "Hey, be nice!"

"Maybe she likes one of the older ones," Sides said.

"Wheeljack?" Sunny asked, disgust plain on his face.

"What part of 'not dating any Autobot' do you not understand?"

Sides ignored me. "Ratchet? Some girls have a thing for doctors, I hear."

I rolled my eyes. "Please. That mental image actually _hurt._"

"Ironhide's already taken," Sunny mused, and then he gave me an appraising look. "And so is Chromia. Do you prefer femmes?"

"Gah!" I grabbed the nearest potential missile – a largish candle from the coffee table – and hurled it at Sunstreaker. Punk melee warrior that he is, he easily caught it with a smirk.

"I do _not _prefer females!" I snarled.

"Then tell us," Sideswipe begged. "_If_ you had to go on a date with an Autobot, which one would it be?"

"I'm not dating any alien machinery, okay?"

"But what if you _had _to? To save the planet?" Sides wheedled.

I was ready to smack him, melee warrior or not. "When would going on a date ever save the planet?"

"Guys," Mom said, putting her hands on her hips. "That's enough."

It suddenly clicked. "You've got a bet riding on this, don't you."

Again Sides ignored me, whining to Mom, "But the suspense is killing us."

"Then Prowl will be happy with the intel on how to offline you."

Sunstreaker grinned at her. It was not a friendly grin – it was one that usually had Ironhide or Sideswipe rolling their sleeves up for a smack-down. "We're not leaving until she tells us, Spitfire."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "If I tell you, will you go away?

"'Bot's honor," Sideswipe answered.

"Fine. _If _I had to go out with an Autobot, it would be Optimus. Now leave."

You could have heard a pin drop, and then Sunny and Sides busted out in laughter. I mean, they were hanging on each others' shoulders for support they were laughing so hard. Tears swam in my eyes again and I bolted to my bedroom. I didn't lock the door because, so help me Primus, if one of them tried to follow me in here, I _would _find a way to kill an Autobot and with how I felt right then, I wouldn't regret it one bit.

Almost immediately, my cell phone chimed, announcing I had received a text message.

"Oh, Pit," I grumbled. Picking it up, I saw it was from Ironhide. /I'm on my way to haul their slagging afts back to the base./

Before I finished reading it, the phone chimed with another text, this time from Chromia. /I'm with Ironhide, and there won't be enough left of 'em to bring back to the base./

I placed the cell phone on my dresser and lay down on my bed, ignoring the next chime announcing another message.

Mom knocked on my door. "Annabelle? I took a baseball bat to Sideswipe and they both retreated after that. Will you let me in?"

The phone on my dresser chimed with yet another text.

I opened the door and Mom entered, giving me a wry smile. "Life's never boring with Autobots around, is it?"

_Chime_. Another text. _Chime_. Another text.

I plopped down on the bed again. "Do they ever do anything besides annoy the crap out of me?"

"Occasionally they save the world."

_Chime_. Another text.

_Yeah, by dating lower life-forms,_ a snarky voice said in my mind. Answering Mom, I grumbled, "I guess we'd better not kill them, then."

_Chime_. Mom crossed to my dresser and turned the power off on my phone. Then she sat on the bed and put her arm around my shoulders. "Were you serious about Optimus?"

I grimaced, looking down at the carpet.

"You were," Mom realized, a hint of alarm in her voice.

"It's not what you think."

She gently brushed my hair out of my face. "Then tell me."

I looked up at her. "You know at the football games? People will say hi or bring him a drink or whatever, but no one ever stays and _talks _with him. He never shows it, but sometimes it just feels like he's a little lost. There's a…bubble around him. They're all too _respectful_. That's why only Dad goes up against him when he plays a lineman. I mean, who are your peers when you're _Optimus,_ leader of the Autobots and the resurrected Prime? Sure, he considers Samuel as his brother, but he's half a world away, and the only one who actually outranks him is God. I think…" I looked down again. "I think he's lonely. And I know what that feels like. And maybe, if we did something fun together, it would help him, too. I pity-date him and he pity-dates me and maybe the pity would cancel itself out and we could both just have fun." I snorted, looking down again. "It'd be more like a daddy-daughter date than anything else, but he sure beats any of the twins." Mom didn't say anything for a long minute, so I added, "_That's_ why Optimus is the only Autobot I'd even _consider _going to a movie with. I'm not attracted to him or anything weird like that."

Mom touched my chin, tipping my face up so she could meet my eyes. "Annabelle Marie Lennox, I am very proud of you."

That wasn't the reaction I was expecting.

She continued, "In the middle of your own hurt, you look with the eyes of compassion and see suffering others do not."

"I kind of noticed it at Thanksgiving," I muttered, blushing.

"Still." She glanced at my cell phone, and I envisioned it with a brimming inbox. "The word's out now." Looking back at me, she said, "Would you mind if I told your dad what you told me? Before he really does have an aneurism or otherwise ends up in Ratchet's care?"

I grimaced but answered, "Sure."

"Do you mind if I tell Optimus?"

"MOM!" I jumped to my feet, scarlet to the ears. "I am _not_ propositioning him! I was just saying _if_."

"Honey…" Her eyes darted to the lying-in-wait cell phone. "Optimus probably already knows what you said. _He_ might be worried, too. Can you imagine how awkward it will be between him and Will now?"

I rolled my eyes before dramatically throwing myself face-down and spread-eagle on the bed. "I _hate_ the twins." Where visiting human dignitaries couldn't reach me, Sunny and Sides cracked me like an egg.

She patted my shoulder sympathetically. "You and the rest of the universe, sweetie. We'll blame it all on them. They might even earn time in the brig over this."

I grinned evilly at the thought and then sighed. "Fine. _If _Optimus brings it up, Dad can tell him. But only if Optimus asks."

"Okay." The bed moved as she got to her feet. "But you can't use glitching Autobot brats as an excuse to skip out on your exams. They're top secret, and even here, your teacher would never buy it."

I smirked, knowing that was true. "I'll be down in a few."

"Okay." She closed the door behind her as she left.

…

Dad got home a half-hour late, but he walked right over to me in the kitchen and put his arms around me. "I'm so sorry about all this, Annabelle."

I shrugged, only half-heartedly returning the hug. I thought it, but I didn't say, 'Welcome to my screwed-up life.'

"This will blow over," he assured me. "Two weeks from now the twins will think up another stupid prank and no one will ever remember this."

Lies, lies.

…

After dinner, I went into the living room and tossed my cell phone to my dad. Lounging on the couch, I said, "Okay. They're _your_ idiot robots; you get to screen the texts. How bad is it?"

Dad powered up the cell phone. After seeing the hint of amusement in his surprised expression, I looked at the ceiling. The very _last_ thing I wanted to see right now was someone finding a silver lining in all this. Especially if the silver lining wasn't for me.

"Hmm. The first few are mostly along the lines of 'Is it true?' Then the incident made it onto Bumblebee's blog, and most of the rest of the texts are comment alerts." There was a long pause as he worked his way through those. "Skids and Mudflap are up to their usual stupidity. Arcee -and your mother both went up to bat for you, and Mikaela had the mod shut down the comment thread."

I held my hand out for the phone and scrolled through the senders. Comments by Optimus were conspicuously absent. "Thanks, Dad," I murmured, worried by his silence. If Optimus wasn't commenting, that meant he was still thinking, and I had an ominous feeling about that fact.


	21. Insult to Injury

Author's Note: I said it in the A/N to Chapter 2 and I'll say it now again: Annabelle doesn't become romantically involved with any of the Autobots. However, that doesn't mean the relationship dynamics between the characters are static. ;) Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Only moments after my dad finished screening my text messages, his cell phone rang. "Hello?"

I was sitting close enough that I could hear the other voice on the line. The sound made me want to go curl up in a ball and hide in the bottom of my closet. It was Optimus Prime – who else? "Hello, Will. May I come visit you and your family tonight?"

I shut my eyes, knowing what the answer would be.

"Of course."

"Thank you. I will be there in approximately two minutes."

Sure enough, I could see his headlights coming up the drive. Instead of parking in the front, he rolled around into the back and transformed. Oh no. No holoform or alt-form. He was here as leader of the Autobots. Dad was already on the back deck, and I slowly trailed behind Mom. When we were all there, Optimus said, "William, Sarah, Annabelle, I offer you my deepest apologies."

Oh _slag_. He used our human names. It felt exactly the same as when Mom used my middle name. We were all in trouble.

"Sideswipe's and Sunstreaker's behavior was inexcusable, and I wanted to personally inform you they are in the brig."

"That's kind of overkill," Dad answered. "They were idiots, but we've come to expect that from them."

Optimus' expression became even more serious. "Then they have enjoyed far too much latitude in their interactions with humans."

_Oh frag it! _"You're kicking us out?" I said without thinking.

Prime paused, his expression seemingly frozen. A poker face? After a long moment, he continued as if I hadn't spoken. "Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are under orders to refrain from all non-essential human contact until you, Annabelle, deem their sentence complete. This includes the Epps family and Sam and Mikaela."

Whoa. _I_ was disciplining the _twins_?

"Bumblebee's blog is also suspended until you deem him appropriately penitent." He watched me expectantly.

"Oh" was all I could manage to say.

"Sarah," Prime continued, "Ratchet has uploaded compulsory subroutines for all of us that send a command-level all-call if we refuse to leave when asked. You will never have to chase off one of my Autobots with a baseball bat again."

"Optimus, that really isn't necessary."

"It is already done."

Mom and I shared a worried glance. I'd never heard of him using _compulsory _anything. Prime was really riled about this for some reason.

Looking at Dad, Optimus said, "You who have fought at our sides and shed your blood in our defense should never be treated as _pets_. I fear that, in becoming so familiar, we have given you and all who stand with us great insult. I personally value you and your men, Colonel William Lennox, and I ask for your forgiveness on my followers' behalf."

I was floored. Dad looked even more shocked. His jaw slowly closed, and I expected him to protest just like he had earlier about the twins being in the brig. But he didn't. He took a minute to mull over Prime's words. "You don't have a human name," Dad said, and I think that I must have looked as surprised as Optimus did by this turn in the conversation. "Sunny and Sides, 'Mia and 'Hide, 'Jack and 'Bee all have human designations. Even Prowl and Ratchet translate into passable nicknames all by themselves. But you don't use the English translation of your name."

Optimus pressed his metallic lips together.

"Graham told me once what it means. It's Latin for something like First and Best." He let that hang in the air for a second. "No wonder you didn't go with a straight-up English translation. So I'm not sure how to speak to you as William Lennox. I don't know what to say to you without sounding disrespectful as the mere organic approaching First-and-Best of the Autobots. I don't know how to bridge that divide. So I won't. I'm talking to you as Iron Will, Prime. I forgive the twins and Bumblebee and all the others. And I forgive you. But only if you will forgive me for what I'm about to do."

Prime lifted a piece of optic hardware in the mechanical equivalent of raising an eyebrow.

"I, William Lennox, give you the human designation of Tim Furst."

If the whole thing hadn't felt like a really weird dream, I would have laughed out loud. Especially when I caught the dumbfounded look on Optimus' face. Who knew metal could be that expressive? But as his expression slowly changed from shock to great dignity, I realized he was taking my dad seriously.

"So," Dad continued, "do we stay out here and continue this conversation as Autobots or go inside and talk as humans?"

Optimus considered for a moment. "It is your home and for you to decide."

"Inside, then," Dad grinned. "Tim."

"May I speak alone with Annabelle for a moment?" Optimus asked.

Dad looked at me, and I nodded, so he and Mom went inside. This whole day was just weird beyond words. The greatest leader of an awesome alien race wanted to have a heart-to-spark with little old me? Sure, why not? Optimus knelt down so we were eye to optic. "I spoke with Will today, and he explained what you meant earlier. I wished to thank you for your concern for me."

I looked down and mumbled, "You're welcome."

Warm steel lightly brushed my chin as Optimus lifted my face. "I also wished to assure you it's unnecessary. I am no more alone than you are."

He meant it as a comfort, but it really didn't help. I didn't know what to say.

Optimus paused, searching my expression, and then said, "But _you_ feel alone."

He was an alien robot. How could he read my face better than Dad? "Not among the Autobots," I honestly answered.

Again he paused, mulling over what I'd said in the same way Dad had earlier. I was positive it was something Dad learned from him and not the other way around.

"I have to admit," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice, "you baffle me sometimes. It takes our sparklings centuries to reach maturity. You have accomplished it in fifteen swift years. I forget, sometimes, how grown you are." Straightening, he said, "You want a normal life."

I sighed deeply. It sounded so…typically teen when he put it that way. "I want to have a chance at one."

"As we learned with Sam and Mikaela, Autobots are incompatible with a normal life. We cannot undo the harm we have caused by selfishly linking our lives with yours. But I can remove future interference. Speak the word and Sunstreaker and Sideswipe stay in the brig until your future children are grown. We can provide you with a new cell phone, one that Skids and Mudflap don't have in their speed dial. It can be selective as well – keep Ironhide and Chromia in your life but not Wheeljack or myself. This is a choice that rightfully is yours but you were never given. I offer it to you now. Do you want a normal life?"

I had to admit that, in the last nine months, there were times I had wished for exactly that. But looking Optimus Prime in the optics, I realized I wouldn't trade the people in my life – my family – for the world. Or any number of boyfriends.

"I guess not."

"You would temporarily sacrifice your courtships to maintain our amity with your family?"

Like I had a bunch of boyfriends already lined up. I squared my shoulders. "And with me. Yes."

The light in his optics softened and he looked almost relieved. "Thank you."

Optimus transformed back into his alt-mode, and his holoform climbed out of the cab. I raised my eyebrows at the figure striding across the grass toward me. He had the familiar cowboy hat, glasses, bright blue eyes and dark hair, but he couldn't be a day older than eighteen. He politely offered me his arm – which I automatically took even though I was stunned – as we crossed the deck and he opened the back door for me.

Mom and Dad were in the kitchen, squeezing limes for limeades. Mom looked up and did a double-take at Optimus' younger holoform. Staring owlishly, she elbowed Dad, whose jaw dropped when he finally glanced our way. Mom recovered first, stage-whispering, "And you said no one could ever be good enough for our daughter."

I pulled my hand away from Optimus' arm, my cheeks burning in embarrassment.

Dad cleared his throat. "Welcome, Tim. Have a seat."

Optimus – Tim – pulled a chair out for me before sitting down himself. I was never going to get used to that. Was it as shocking for the Autobots to call me Spitlet? No, I realized, but it might have come close when I insisted on being called Annabelle. And that particular name-change would have been shocking _and _hurtful.

"So why 'Tim'?" Optimus asked. He still had that deep, steadying voice even though he looked so young.

"Well," Dad drawled, "it was either that or Opie."

Optimus' smily was sly. "I thought maybe it was a sarcastic reference to 'Tiny Tim,' but given the alternative, I'll take the designation and be quiet."

"Wise man," Mom said, putting a glass of limeade each in front of both of us before sitting down with her own drink. "I still haven't told Annabelle some of the atrocious name combinations Will came up with for her before she was born."

Dad rolled his eyes, but he knew when he was beat and didn't argue with Mom. Taking his seat, he said, "For the record, only humans get away with calling you that, and only when you're in your holoform. Feel free to beat in their helms if any 'bots have enough cheek to call you anything other than Optimus Prime."

"I'll take that under consideration," Optimus – Tim – solemnly answered, but he was grinning. "And speaking of beating in helms…" He turned toward me. "We need to hammer out some details about Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Bumblebee, when you're ready."

"They were just being themselves."

Tim…I just couldn't call him that, even in my mind. Furst? Maybe I could handle that. Furst raised his hand to dismiss my protests. "They were inexcusably rude to you. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe in particular need something like brig time to understand something is a bad idea. It won't necessarily prevent them from being foolish again, but at least they'll know it's wrong."

"But I don't have experience with anything like this."

"We've already chosen the punishment, but since you're the one they offended, you get a say in the length. And…" Furst leaned closer conspiratorially. "Just between us, Prowl has requested that you keep Sunstreaker and Sideswipe in the brig for a week. He's going to be off-island for a few days and he'd take it as a personal favor if the twins were locked up while he's gone."

I chuckled. "Well in that case….Done, as long as I have visitation rights. But Prowl owes me."

Furst smirked. "And he knows it. As for Bumblebee…"

"Any recommendations?" I asked him.

Furst shook his head, looking almost wistful. "Mikaela has taken the proverbial wrench to him. Given the chance, he'd probably beg forgiveness on his knees."

I could just imagine poor Bumblebee begging with clasped hands and tearful optics. "That'd be cheating."

Furst smiled, nodding in agreement but still awaiting my decision.

"How about this? He can get _The Daily Buzz_ reinstated when Sunny and Sides get out of the brig."

"It's your choice."

"Then that's what I want."

Furst leaned back in his chair, looking almost happy for once. "Good." Then he eyed Dad. "But I'm curious about something, William."

Dad took a sip of his drink. "What's that?"

"Did you have an uncharacteristic flash of interpersonal insight, or did someone forewarn you?"

Dad choked on his drink, and Furst smirked.

"Prowl?" Furst guessed.

Coughing a few times and thumping his chest, Dad managed to say, "Flash of inspiration."

"It is too late to lie, Will. Besides, using names to build bridges isn't your style."

"Umm…what?" Mom asked.

Furst sighed, leaning forward again, but it was a long moment before he spoke. When he did, his voice was soft. "As you are all aware, designations are important to us. Most of us have several nicknames as you call them, and the name we choose to use indicates many things. Rank. Allegiances. Personality. Functions. Friendships. Family. Very few of us publicly use the grander designations given us because we have other names, other ties." He looked up at Dad. "It has been a very long time since I have been anything other than Optimus Prime." Furst's eyes narrowed. "So I ask you again. Who told you?"

Dad sighed. "Actually it was 'Hide. He saw you coming down on the twins and guessed what you were thinking."

"And what was that?" Furst pressed.

"That you Autobots had become too presumptuous with us."

Raising an incredulous eyebrow, Furst said, "Ironhide used the word 'presumptuous?'"

"No," Dad admitted with a slight wince, knowing he'd been caught in a lie. "That was Ratchet, after you had him pull a copy of the twins' memories. I'd rather not repeat Ironhide's exact words in front of my wife and daughter, but he thought you'd probably try to create a respectful distance between us and the Autobots and maybe even…revoke our Autobot designations."

"So it was a conspiracy." Furst's expression gave away nothing. "This has Prowl's marks all over it. Am I wrong?"

"No," Dad sighed, resigned to telling the Autobot leader the truth. "He was the one who suggested that giving you a human name might work."

Furst drummed his fingers on the tabletop for a moment and then paused. "Work?"

"Stop you from cutting us off."

His bright blue eyes met each of ours in turn and then he sighed, looking down at the table. "Fifteen years of working by your side, and it appears that I underestimated you all. Forgive me."

"Meh," Mom said lightly, grinning. "It's what families do, Tim."

He looked up at the name and a genuine smile spread across his face. "Thank you."

…

When Furst stood to leave a little while later, I followed him to the back porch. "Just a second."

He turned, curiosity in his eyes. "Yes?"

"What's with the holoform?" I blurted out. I'd tried to think of a more polite way to say it, but it just kind of fell out of my mouth anyway.

He nodded to the patio chairs on the back deck and said, "Come sit with me." When we were both settled in, he gathered his thoughts for a moment. "For a long time, we regretted the compromise that forced us to lie to you, Annabelle. To this day, there are consequences of it that I still regret. But over time, we have realized it was a blessing in disguise, as Mrs. Epps termed it. Six years ago, I held the newborn Daniel Robert Epps in the palm of my hand. Can you honestly imagine placing an infant not five hours old in the hands of that?"

He gestured toward his alt-form, and while I knew Optimus – knew he would die himself before harming a human – I couldn't imagine blithely handing over a newborn to him in his robot form. It was just something…instinctive.

"In our human holoforms," he continued, "we all held him – me, Chromia, Ironhide, Arcee, Jolt, even Prowl. All of us. Annabelle, because we could act only human around you, it forced us to _become_ more human. We learned human gestures and facial expressions. We learned to play football and video games and to celebrate the things we cherish. And it has allowed us to appreciate and interact better with the humans beyond NEST."

"But what does that have to do with…?" I gestured in the direction of his made-over holoform.

"My point is that we have learned to bridge divides that, when we first arrived on Earth, would have been insurmountable. There are, of course, some divides that even a human holoform will not allow us to bridge, but age is not one of them. We have taken much from you, including social opportunities. That is one of the consequences I still regret."

Completely incredulous, I asked, "So…you're asking me out?"

He chuckled. "No. You clearly indicated that a date with any Autobot would be a last resort. But you also made your preference clear. I wanted you to understand that, should the fate of the world ever rest on you going to a social event with an alien machine, I would not subject you to a daddy-daughter date."

Okaaay. "Aren't the others going to give you a hard time about…the sudden change?"

"I won't use this format for my holoform around them."

Oh. I got it now. "You were just showing me my options."

He nodded. "Giving you a choice, yes."

"Gotcha. It's very sweet of you, Optimus. Tim. Thank you." Even though I would never, ever, _ever _be asking him out, it _was_ very thoughtful.

His eyes sparkled as he rose to his feet to leave. "You're welcome."


	22. A Matter of Honor

Author's Note: My fic _Introductions: Theresa Epps _could be considered a companion to this chapter. If you haven't already, you could read it before or after this chapter and everything will make sense either way. Enjoy! :)

* * *

The second school day after the break up was no better than the first. I sat alone at lunch while Brian laughed and talked with Bing and Michelle two tables over. Pure stubbornness kept me from crying, and it was proof (as if any was needed) that I was my father's daughter when I didn't shed a single tear. Even when Heather made a point of ignoring me when we were supposed to work in the same group together in English, I just rolled my eyes at her and started working on the assignment on my own.

Mom picked me up like usual, but her greeting was subdued. "Hi, sweetheart."

"Hey." I closed the door and stared blankly out the window while we drove away. We rode in silence until Mom turned us down the driveway. "If you don't want to talk to him right now, I can ask him to leave. I'm sure he'll understand."

I lifted my head to ask her what she meant and noticed the semi parked in front of the house. My heart fell to my shoes, but I just murmured, "Naw, it's okay." This was Optimus, after all. He probably just came because he had an assignment for Rambo's daughter.

As we got closer, I noticed that the figure sitting on the steps of the front porch was Optimus' younger holoform and I was _really_ tempted to take my mom up on her offer. But it would be just plain rude to not at least say hi to…him. I halfheartedly snorted when I thought of his human designation. Tim Furst – my dad really did come up with the craziest names.

Mom parked in front of the garage so we could greet Optimus…Tim…Furst. "Hey," I said to him as I climbed out of the car.

"Annabelle," he solemnly answered. Nodding to Mom, he added, "Sarah."

"Hi, Tim! Care to come in?"

"Actually," he turned his brilliant blue eyes on me, "I was hoping you would go for a walk with me, Annabelle."

I gaped like a fish out of water, but Mom came to my rescue. "As long as you'll finish your homework after dinner, I don't see any reason why not."

Recovering a little, I said, "Sure."

Optim…Furst offered me his arm, and I took it, still pretty tongue-tied. We walked together around the house and down toward the beach. "I spoke with Sam last night," he announced. "My brother reminded me of a few points I neglected to discuss with you yesterday evening."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. You told your father that it was coincidence that you were an Autobot, that you just happened to be in the right place at the right time."

"Ironhide," I muttered, realizing he must have tattled on me.

Furst chuckled. "Yes. No one can gossip as quickly or efficiently as Autobots, or so your mother tells me."

Yeah, info dumps would help with that.

"As I was saying, your father replied that Sam felt otherwise. I wanted you to know that he was only half right."

I glanced up at him curiously, and he gave me a sidelong smile. "I, too, feel that it is your fate to be one of us, Firebrand. Annabelle."

His words warmed my heart, even as it broke a little. "You wouldn't even know me if my last name wasn't Lennox."

"I would never have known Sam if his last name wasn't Witwicky."

I blinked for a second or two, trying to wrap my head around it. I'd grown up with Sam and Optimus being brothers, so the idea that there was a time when they _weren't _was kinda hard to grasp. And then I realized that technically the guy beside me was an alien from outer space and it was a longshot for him to be on my planet, nevermind in my life.

"Fate provides the opportunity; we provide the proof of that trust."

Again looking up at him, I ventured, "Joe Marshall?"

He stopped under the shade of a palm and turned to face me. "Wheeljack's lab," he corrected. "You saved Ironhide's life that day. And the last time that someone had the circuits to _hug _Ratchet was long before your were born.

"A bet between Sunny and Sides?" I guessed.

"There's a reason no one has dared since," he said, confirming my guess. "What's the saying? 'Heaven protects fools and children?'"

I smirked up at him. "And which one am I?"

His eyes sparkled with sly humor. "Inordinately lucky," he diplomatically answered. "My point is that you fulfill not just a useful role, but a unique one. We would be lessened by your absence."

Embarrassment left me flustered. "Thank you."

"I also wanted to clear up one other issue. I agree with you that it was better for Ironhide and the femmes to control their tempers regarding Brian, but only because we value life so highly – _not _because your honor is worth so little."

This time I actually blushed.

"Were the circumstances different, were he a Cybertronian…"

"The whole tribe would take turns beating him up. I get it, I get it."

"...they would have to get in line behind _me_, and there wouldn't be much left of him when I was done."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise at that.

"You are one of my…family. You were dear to us – to me – before you even learned to walk. And I protect _my _Autobots. Do you understand?"

Amity, that's what my mom called it. The love the Autobots had for each other – their willingness to die for each other and for us mere mortals. It had nothing to do with smooching and everything to do with that line from the Bible or wherever the NEST chaplains got it. Optimus Prime loved all his Autobots so much that he'd die for them. And they would for him. It was one thing to know that in the abstract. It was quite another to look into the fierce fire of the Prime's optics (even if he was looking through the eyes of Tim Furst at the moment) and know that he would _kill _for me if his own code of honor didn't forbid it.

I swallowed hard. "I understand."

He nodded brusquely. "Good."

…

Aaron Hyde was worse than my own mother at dinner that night. "Prowl said Optimus paid you a visit, Firebrand."

"Yeah," I said, suddenly going into junior-ambassador mode and trying to anticipate where he would go with his line of questioning.

"What did you two do?" Hyde pressed, trying to sound casual. Mia and R.C. were having a spirited conversation that somehow just screamed that they were really eavesdropping. (Only an alien robot could pull that off.)

I lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Went for a walk. And talked."

"About what?" His voice turned almost ominous somehow, and I threw him a nervous glance. He had set his fork down and was leaning closer, peering at me.

"Honor and stuff."

That clearly caught him by surprise. "Honor?"

"Uh-huh."

He and Mia shared a Look that gave away both the fact that she was eavesdropping and that she was as surprised as Hyde. "As in…avenging wrongs done to you?"

"As in he'd be first in line, if the circumstances were different."

"He _said _that?" R.C. squealed in excitement.

Confused, I looked to each of them in turn. "Yeah…?"

R.C. gave her sister a high-five.

"It's about time someone did something to those twins," Mia said decisively. "They can't mock our little Firebrand and get away with it."

"Not on my watch," Hyde rumbled. "I'm glad Prime has finally seen the light."

Mom smothered a smile with her hand, but Dad didn't bother, tipping back his chair and openly grinning.

"Um…Huh?"

"Revenge," Hyde explained, his eyes glowing with an unholy light. "When it comes to defending your honor, Brian may be off limits, but Sunstreaker and Sideswipe…"

"…are long overdue for a well-executed prank," Dad finished for him.

I looked to Mom for help, but she just chuckled and shook her head.

"It'll be good for you," Mia promised. "Nothing distracts from a bad mood like beating the slag out of somebody. So what are you going to do to them?"

Sweet Cyberton, what had I gotten myself into?

…

Dad hosted a huge football game and picnic on the Saturday over Memorial Day weekend. It was a big deal – so much so that Wheeljack was forbidden from experimenting with _anything _for a full week prior, just to make sure he wasn't stuck in med bay with Ratchet during the game. This was done to keep the teams even and to spare Wheeljack from Ratchet's significant wrath at missing out on such an important event.

I was setting out the last of the field markers for the football game when a deep, familiar voice behind me said, "Your father thought you would appreciate this."

The respectably mature holoform of Optimus Prime stood a few feet away, offering me a tall glass of lemonade. We – Mom, Dad, and I – had decided to let him get away with using the name of Optimus as long as the others were around. His human designation was just for among us. I stepped closer, accepting the glass. "Thank you." In a voice so low it was almost a whisper, I added, "I need to talk with Tim when he has a moment, though."

He studied me for a moment, no doubt wondering what I wanted to say to his younger form that I couldn't say to his normal human face. "Now?"

"Yes, if possible."

Optimus pursed his lips and looked over the back yard where everyone was still milling about and talking. The football game wouldn't get started for at least another half hour, but sound would carry too well to alien audios for us to have a conversation out here.

"Go talk to Mom and then meet me in the house."

Clearly displeased, Optimus nodded once and then went over to the buffet table where Mom and Mrs. Epps stood talking. I brought the lemonade inside, listening to the voicemails on my cell phone as I went so no one would delay me. As planned, I started the washing machine to provide some white noise and then I nervously waited in the living room for Optimus.

I heard footfalls in the hallway and the younger holoform I'd come to think of as Tim Furst stepped into the room.

I moved closer and, whispering again, said, "Ironhide tells me it's a matter of honor that I get back at Sunny and Sides."

He frowned and whispered in answer, "I highly recommend that you do not pursue this course of action."

I grinned. "I thought I was talking to Furst, not the Prime."

His jaw clenched. "It doesn't matter who is speaking, it would be unwise for you to prank the twins. You cannot beat them at their own game – they literally have a thousand times more experience at it."

I gave him an innocent smile. "I don't intend to. I'm going to beat them at _my _game. The pieces are in place and the players are lining up. Can I count you in?"

"I can't prank my own warriors."

I stole his white hat, putting it on my own head. "Optimus can't, but Tim _can._"

He pondered that for a moment and I almost worried that he would back out. I couldn't set this up without him, and I _really _didn't want to get into trouble with him if he disapproved of my plan.

He chuckled softly, snatching his hat back and twirling it in his hands. "So long as the Prime remains squeaky-clean, I'm in. What do you need me to do?"

"Accept the invitation Mrs. Epps will give you after the football game. You'll find out more later."

Putting his hat back on, Furst nodded once and flickered out of existence, only to be replaced by Prime. "Firebrand?" he asked in a normal speaking tone. "Spitfire asked me to bring out more ice. Do you have any idea where it is?"

I allowed myself one last evil grin before I went back to being the helpful-if-sometimes-snarky teenager. "Sure. It's in the deep freeze."

The invitation from Mrs. Epps was to a formal dinner for the NEST senior officers on Sunday evening. Optimus, Prowl, Ironhide, and Ratchet all agreed to come, while Wheeljack would remain behind to run the base. Dad and Mom were invited, too, and so I got to tag along.

In reality, it was the first meeting of the "Humiliate Sunstreaker and Sideswipe Coalition." After consulting Prowl, we came to the conclusion that, like the perfect crime, the perfect prank is one in which the victims don't even realize they've been targeted. No perpetrators equals no retaliation. Our small band of conspirators also agreed that, to this end, we could leave no paper trail. All communications would have to be face-to-face and verbal.

Optimus was concerned about the fact that all this would be happening during finals week, so he added the stipulation that if I didn't get at least as good grades on my finals as I was already pulling in my classes, he'd tell Sunstreaker and Sideswipe that I set them up. If that isn't incentive to study hard, I don't know what is!

Two days after our first powwow, Dad came home from work and announced his presence by hollering, "Hey Annabelle, I brought your beau home."

"DAD!" I whined, coming downstairs from my bedroom. "For the love of plasma cannons, he's an _alien_ _robot_, and the Prime at that."

Optimus' younger hologram Tim Furst was blushing in the doorway and I heard a smack and Dad exclaim "Ow!" in the kitchen. "Thank you, Spitfire," Furst rumbled.

"That's Sarah to you," Mom said, coming in from the kitchen and catching Furst in a quick, maternal hug. He froze in surprise at the gesture, but if Mom noticed, she ignored it and wandered to my side. "Hey, Tim! How's it going?"

"Very well, actually," he said, recovering. "I cannot stay for long, but I wanted to report to our cunning leader."

I squealed and Mom laughed as Dad drew the curtains and switched off the lights. Furst disappeared, and suddenly we were standing in the hall outside Prowl's and Optimus' offices. A hologram, I realized. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe lounged outside Prowl's door, obviously awaiting punishment for something they'd done. (How much trouble could those guys get into, anyway? They'd only been out of the brig for a couple of days, for crying out loud!) Optimus and Epps were walking down the hall toward us. "I sympathize with your predicament," the Autobot was saying, "but there is little I can do. Even the strongest and bravest of my Autobots would hesitate at a mission like that."

At the words 'strongest and bravest,' Sunny and Sides both perked up and looked at Prime.

"Couldn't you at least ask for volunteers?" Epps pleaded. "Or let me?"

"I am not sure it would be appropriate."

"I'm begging you, Prime. I'm dead if this doesn't happen."

"We can help," Sideswipe said.

Optimus looked up and studied the twins for a good, long moment. "Are you certain? This is no light undertaking."

Sunstreaker squared his shoulders. "We can handle anything."

"If it's two against one, they _probably _could pull it off," Epps said hesitantly. "If we get them some additional training."

Sunstreaker looked positively insulted at that.

"It _would_ solve two problems with a single solution," Prime observed.

Right on cue, Prowl opened his door. "Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, in my office, now."

"Wait!" Epps said, looking desperate. "You can't punish them right now! Optimus has an assignment for them."

The twins grinned at each other.

Prowl looked askance at Optimus, but Prime just nodded. "They have volunteered to assist Epps with his predicament. Perhaps we can substitute community service for confinement this time?"

Prowl turned his cold optics on Epps. "And you've already cleared it on your end?"

Epps grimaced. "Not yet. Let me call my _superior officer_." He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. The twins shared a fist bump and Prowl glowered at them.

"Hey honey," Epps began. "Great news! I found a sitter for Friday while Annabelle and the boys are at school! We can still go on our anniversary getaway!"

The twins' faces were frozen in matching expressions of shock. Giggling hysterically, I fell against my mom's shoulder. She was shaking with laughter, too.

"Uh huh!" the holographic Epps continued. "Sideswipe _and _Sunstreaker." There was a pause, and even in the hologram, I could hear that Theresa Epps had raised her voice. "But there will be two of them," Epps protested. "And Sarah Lennox can still help them out with text messages even if she is too sick with the swine flu to babysit. And it'll only be while Annabelle's taking her final." Another pause while Theresa yelled at Epps. "Okay, I'll tell them. Bye, honey." He snapped his phone shut. "She says you two are life-savers and that if anything happens to little Akeela while she's in your care, she and Sarah Lennox will scrap you both and rebuild you as Smart Cars that'll look up to Skids and Mudflap. And she specifically told me to warn you that we have NannyWeb cameras and she _will _know."

Sideswipe actually looked ill at the threat.

I barely noticed when the hologram ended, I was laughing so hard. Furst flickered back into the room, grinning at my mom and me. "Annabelle Lennox," he formally declared. "I'm pleased to report Phase I is complete."

Phase II was easy. Mom was faking the swine flu and so Ratchet made twice-daily visits to ensure she was 'recovering' well and that Dad and I weren't carriers. Mr. and Mrs. Epps packed their bags for their three-day, two-night leave of absence. I spent several hours at their house with their children – six-year-old Daniel, four-year-old Graham, and eighteen-month-old Akeela – so they would be comfortable with me at their house while their parents were gone. R.C. kept me company and provided rides to and from the Epps' house.

Phase III was a bit trickier. It was after 23:00 hours on Thursday when we heard the sound of a motorcycle approaching. I skipped to the back porch in time to see Arcee pull around to the yard. Ratchet, who was still there after his house-call for my supposedly ill and bedridden mother, transformed and began working on the femme. The visual was simple enough to tweak, but I guess the audio took a little more effort. Despite his complaining about how long it was taking, Ratchet was able to adjust Arcee's holoform to our satisfaction in less than an hour and a half.

"Wadda ya fink?" Arcee asked, showing off her twenty-seven-inch-tall, coffee-skinned, pajama-clad holoform.

"A perfect imitation," Dad agreed. "Even Theresa wouldn't be able to tell you and Akeela apart."

In her cherubic little soprano, Arcee let out an adorably evil, "Muahahaha."

I sniggered and Ratchet deadpanned, "_That_ might give you away."

Ratchet drove us over to the Epps' house, Arcee following us – without her holoform rider. She parked in a wild tangle of trees and underbrush, and Dad and Epps helped hide her with a camouflage tarp and netting. Akeela-Arcee flickered into existence by the front of Ratchet's alt-form and I scooped her up in my arms. The real Akeela was already asleep in her car-carrier and she didn't as much as blink when Mrs. Epps handed Akeela off to my mom. Theresa looked over Arcee critically and Arcee brushed her cheek, signing "Mommy" with her pudgy little fingers. Mrs. Epps shook her head. "Amazing. Nothing short of amazing." Then she played with a wild curl in the middle of the girl's forehead. "This is the only difference."

"And it was deliberate," Mom assured her with a wink.

Giving Akeela a soft kiss, Mrs. Epps whispered, "Be good for Sarah, baby girl." Then Theresa took Arcee in her arms and tweaked her nose. "And you, baby 'bot, be very, _very _bad."


	23. The Perfect Prank

Phase IV went off without a hitch, and I got to be present for the capstone achievement of our conspiracy – Phase V.

It was movie night for the 'bots, and everyone from NEST was gathered in the Autobot hangar for a special screening of the remake of "Independence Day." Mom and Dad were sitting on Ironhide's shoulders while Arcee was holding me. Theresa had made herself comfortable, leaning against Jolt, waiting for her husband. Once everyone was settled in and the lights were dimmed, Epps connected to the streaming Netflix and joined his wife and the Autobot.

Epic music began playing, and the title faded in on the projection screen. "Daddy Day Care – Autobot Edition."

There were murmurs of confusion and variations of "What in the Pit is this?"

Someone turned the lights back up. "Must be a prankster," Ironhide said, glaring at Sunstreaker and Sideswipe while a frowning Epps went back to the movie server to see if he could figure out what was wrong. Before he could get there, though, the black screen faded to the first scene of the movie. It opened with Sunstreaker's holoform standing in front of a kitchen stove wearing a pink, frilly cooking apron.

Laughter erupted, and several voices called out, "WAIT!" and "PLAY IT! PLAY IT!"

"Hey!" Epps exclaimed. "That's my house!"

A voice-over by Theresa Epps said, "Just to keep things easy, go ahead and make Akeela macaroni and cheese for lunch."

"You look ridiculous," the Sideswipe holoform on the screen said to his brother. He was sitting at the kitchen table, bouncing Akeela Epps on his lap.

"So why don't you get over here and stir this [beep]?"

"Because I think we should keep the homicidal one away from the baby as much as possible."

Sunstreaker snorted. "Fine, mommy dearest. You get to feed the critter, and you'll be begging to wear this thing before you're done. I've seen toddlers eat – they aim for the mouth and miss. It's amazing they don't die of starvation. I'd rather look silly for two minutes than like a slob for the rest of the day. Human fuel is disgusting, and I'm not getting it all over me."

"You still look ridiculous."

"Shut up. Or better yet, get over here and help me figure out the directions for this stuff."

With a smirk, Sideswipe set Akeela on floor with a couple of toys and then joined his brother. "Boil for 8-10 minutes until tender," he read. "What does that mean?"

"Epps talks about his steak being tender…"

They both gave a doubtful look to the simmering pot in front of them.

In the Autobot hangar, a ripple of chortling and sniggers ran through the group, but the humans laughed the hardest.

"Maybe we'd better comm Spitfire," movie-Sideswipe suggested.

"No," Sunstreaker snarled. "We slice and dice Decepticons and terrorize NEST. We are cunning, capable, and dangerous, [beep] it. We can make [beep]-ing macaroni and cheese without crying to a _human femme _for help!"

Neither of them noticed Akeela stand up and toddle out of the kitchen.

In the Autobot hangar, Mom and Mrs. Epps were trying to stifle the laughter so hard tears were streaming down their cheeks. I was starting to really lose it, too.

Onscreen, Sunstreaker reached for the biggest butchers' knife in the knife block and fished a noodle out of the pot. Setting it on the counter, he cut it with the knife. "What do you think?" he asked.

Sides shrugged. "Looks tender to me." Picking up the box, he read the next step in the instructions. "Drain."

The brothers shared a confused look and then simultaneously glanced at first the pot on the stove and then at the kitchen sink. "There's no plug to pull in the pan or anything," Sides observed.

"I'm not an idiot."

"Well, Mr. Cunning-Capable-and-Dangerous, how are you – "

"We'll just dump off all the water we can. I mean, it's not like they tell you to towel the noodles dry. I'm sure it's okay if there's a little water left in the bottom of the pan. And besides, it's not like Little Miss Drool is going to care if it's not perfect." He glanced over his shoulder and did a double take. "Where'd she go?"

"I dunno," Sides grumbled, walking back toward the kitchen table where he'd left her.

"Go find her, stupid. You're supposed to be taking care of her while _I _do the cooking, remember?"

"So do the cooking already and stop distracting me from the _real _work!"

The sound of a toilet flushing reached the kitchen.

"Aw _Pit_!" Sides bolted out of the room, and you could hear him slam open a door. "She's not in here!"

"Check upstairs!" Sunstreaker called as he carefully poured the water out of the pan into the sink. A series of thuds revealed Sideswipe's sprint up the stairs and there was another _bang _as the upstairs bathroom door slammed open.

There was another flush and Sideswipe yelled, "She's not in here, either!"

"MASTER BATH!" Sunstreaker shouted, putting the pan back on the stove and pulling off the apron to go help his brother.

The camera angle switched to the Epps' bedroom, where Sideswipe stood in the doorway of the master bath, holding a half-soaked and happily-squealing Akeela while Sunstreaker looked on in disgust.

"What did she _do_?" Sides said, looking a little shell-shocked.

"I don't know, but the toilet is overflowing and it's _everywhere_!"

"I'm comming Spitfire."

"Mo-ped," Sunstreaker said. "Two-cylinder wuss."

"You got any bright ideas about how to even _stop _the stupid thing from overflowing? And then what are we supposed to do with all the water on the floor? And what's that white floaty stuff?"

A faint trickle could be heard in the background.

"Who do I look like, Wheeljack? I've got to go finish lunch."

"[beep] you. If you're not going to help, you leave me no choice." Sideswipe's expression grew distant as he accessed his comm. Sunstreaker shook his head and started to walk away, but Akeela started yowling, and he looked back.

"Spitfire says I have to mop it up," Sideswipe announced. "You want to hold her or clean the floor?"

"She's soaking wet."

"So go change her clothes. Or mop. You choose."

"UGH!" Sunny snatched Akeela from Sides' hands and stomped out of the room. "Next time, we just go quietly to the brig!"

"Or take a solid month of monitor duty," Sideswipe hollered in agreement, wringing out a mop into the tub.

The scene cut to Akeela's room, where Sunstreaker was digging through drawers trying to find some dry clothes for her. "Or wax a C-17 with a toothbrush!" he bellowed.

The image cut back to Sideswipe working the toilet with a plunger. "Or go on a suicide mission against Megatron!"

The camera angle switched again. "Or just let Prime decapitate us!" Sunstreaker shouted, his voice muffled because his holoform's head was in the dryer, still looking for a clean outfit.

"Or Prowl," Sideswipe agreed, experimentally flushing the toilet, only to jump up and utter a few [beeps] as it overflowed again.

In the Autobot hangar, Prowl muttered, "Wax a C-17 with a toothbrush. Why haven't I thought of that?"

Jolt shushed him.

On the screen, Sunstreaker's holoform yelled, "Hey, do you smell something burning?"

The scene cut to the kitchen where the pan Sunstreaker had left on the burner was now billowing smoke. Thuds and more bleeped-out cussing announced the twins' arrival.

"Put it out! Put it out!" Sideswipe shrieked, snatching up Akeela, who had been happily unloading everything she could reach in the kitchen drawers. Sunstreaker used the apron like a hot pad to pick up the pan and threw the whole bundle out the window.

The twins stared at each other for a second in blank shock.

"So. Macaroni and cheese is out," Sunny said, recovering.

"Literally," Sides retorted. "What are going to feed the may-as-well-be-a-Decepticon baby? And why the [beep] isn't she dressed?"

"Because I can't find a [beep]-ing outfit."

"How hard can it be? Put a [beep]-ing shirt and pants on her."

Sunstreaker sneered, "Well they had to _match_. I couldn't have her looking like _you _dressed her."

Sides rolled his eyes, and only then did he notice the extent of the mess. Kitchen towels were mixed with silverware and spatulas with a dusting of plastic sandwich baggies over the top.

"[beep]-ing [beep]! [beep], Akeela, what did you_ do_?"

The toddler broke out in peals of giggles.

Sunstreaker sighed heavily and took Akeela. "First shirt and pants I lay hands on, she's wearing them."

The scene on the projector screen transitioned to a close-up of Akeela. She was wearing orange-and-white striped shorts with a pink shirt that had red hearts all over it. Her mouth was ringed with a dark-brown mushy mess.

Arcee, who was sitting with me, flinched and groaned. "Orange and pink? That's just _painful_."

I patted her hand sympathetically and murmured, "The things the poor girl endured that day." Stealing a glance at the femme, I caught her wink.

"You sure this is okay?" movie-Sunstreaker dubiously asked as the camera panned out. "It's not on the list of approved fuels."

"It's chocolate and she's a femme. Of course it's okay," Sideswipe retorted, handing another cookie to the baby. "And the most important part is Oreos don't need to be cooked. That almost puts us back on schedule. Her nap is next and we'll get some quality time with the PlayStation as a reward for all our hard work."

The scene cut to Akeela standing up in her crib, holding on to the railing and happily jumping up and down on the mattress. A voice-over by Mrs. Epps said, "If she gives you any trouble falling asleep for her nap, try singing to her, and don't forget to blow her a kiss at the end. You might have to sing it a few times to get her down. If that doesn't work, you can always take her for a ride – that puts her out like a light."

The twins' holoforms stood uncomfortably near the doorway, arguing.

"You do it!" Sunstreaker said, nudging his brother.

"Nuh-uh. I'll look like an idiot."

"And this would be different how?"

Sideswipe cuffed his twin. "We'll both do it together."

"You start."

"No, you start."

"Alright. Fine. Together on the count of three. One, two, three…"

They both took a deep breath and half-mumbled, half-sang.

_I love you, you love me  
__We're a happy family  
__With a great big hug  
__And a kiss from me to you  
__Won't you say you love me too!_

And then both holoforms blew a kiss to the now-squealing toddler.

A mix of sniggers, snorts, and exclamations of "awww" rang out through the Autobot hangar.

On the screen, Sideswipe roughly elbowed his brother. "You [beep]-ed it up – it didn't work!"

"[beep]-er. Mrs. Epps said we might need to sing it a second time. And it's 'cause you were just mumbling instead of actually _singing._ Now _sing, _[beep] you! We're not gonna get any gaming time at this rate."

The video spliced them singing it four times back-to-back, with the two of them coming to blows at the end of the fourth one. By that time, you couldn't hear them over the uproarious laughter in the hangar. But both the twins and the audience were cut off by a piercing wail. Akeela was crying, huge tears rolling down her cheeks as she gasped a stuttering breath.

"Now look what you did!" movie-Sunstreaker accused his brother.

"_I _did? You're the one too afraid of looking stupid."

"Would you just shut up?" Sunstreaker demanded, and Akeela wailed even louder.

"Let's take her for a drive like Theresa said."

"Fine. In your cab."

"Nuh-uh. _You're _the one who [beep]-ed up the song. _And _the macaroni and cheese."

Sunstreaker glared once at poor Akeela, who was turning all red and her nose was starting to run she was crying so hard. "I'm outta here."

"Wait!" Sideswipe exclaimed, picking up Akeela. "Fine. She can ride with me."

The scene cut to a view of the front door. It slammed open, with Sideswipe storming into the front room. Sunstreaker followed, laughing so hard he was having a hard time holding the still-awake Akeela. She had black goo all over her mouth, her hands, and down the front of her shirt. "It's chocolate and she's a femme," Sunny mocked, wheezing for breath. "I _told _you it was a bad idea to give her cookies for lunch."

Sideswipe returned to the front door, carrying a cleaning basket full of wipes, car-leather cleaner, an upholstery cleaner, and a can of air freshener. "Shut. The. [BEEP]. Up! Or I'll smear that vomit all over _your _interior!"

Sunstreaker tried – he really did – but as soon as Sideswipe slammed the front door behind him, he busted up laughing again. That is, until a look of intense concentration crossed Akeela's face, and she loudly filled her diaper.

"Oh [beep]," he swore under his breath, holding her out at arms' length.

Giggles, guffaws, and snorts of laughter filled the hangar at his slightly shell-shocked expression.

"You get that joy of _that_ one," movie-Sideswipe called from outside.

"How much longer until Firebrand gets back?" Sunstreaker demanded of his brother.

"Twenty minutes! Now stop complaining and go change her [beep]-ing diaper!"

Sunstreaker grimaced, no doubt at the smell. "Dis_gust_ing."

Akeela's bottom lip started trembling and turned down in a pout before she burst into tears.

"No, no, no," Sunstreaker frantically begged. "Not again! My audios can't handle it!"

Akeela just wailed louder.

With a roar of frustration, he stomped up the stairs.

The final scene of our cinema masterpiece was me bringing Danny and Graham through the front door after school. Akeela was still wailing.

"Firebrand!" Sideswipe exclaimed, hurrying in from the living room with a manic sort of relief in his voice.

Eyes wild, Sunstreaker dropped the diaperbag at my feet and bolted out the front door without a word.

Sideswipe was only a couple of steps behind him. He all but dropped Akeela in my arms as he sprinted to his altform. I turned my attention back to her just in time to see her heavily-duck-taped diaper slide out from under her dress to flop onto the floor.

The screen faded to black amid uproarious laughter, and someone switched the lights back up.

"Encore!" someone yelled, and Sunstreaker's head swiveled to glare at the speaker, but his optics bounced from laughing femme to chortling soldier to grinning Prime to sniggering mech, unable to figure out who had hollered. No way could he decide who to yell at by process of elimination, partly because _everybody _had good reason to prank the twins but also because several other people had taken up the cry.

Nodding in acceptance, Prowl gestured to Epps to have him re-start the movie. This time, the sniggering started with the music. I glanced over to grin at Optimus, and he nodded slightly my way as if to say 'Well done.'

My heart warmed with pride and I returned his nod. Mission accomplished.

* * *

Author's Note: And that completes this story arc. :) I'm afraid I'll have to pause here for a while, though. The next story arc has spoilers for the ending of _The Tie That Binds,_ so I'll need to finish that fic before I can do more in this one. Unfortunately, my pace of writing on TTTB has slowed a bit due to work getting really busy. The law firm I work for recently took on a murder exoneration case that's going to eat up a lot of my spare time for the next month and then I'm up against the holidays. I'll write when I can, but I won't be very consistent. Don't worry, though; we're only about 2/3 of the way through Annabelle's story, and there are some great things still to come (hint: more time with Tim). ;) Until then. ~ Eowyn77


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